


Bittersweet Reign

by SyzygyBear



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: A bit of humour thrown in too, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Bit of magic thrown in there, Closeted Character, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Much fluff at the beginning, Pining, Really fucking long so strap yourself in, Rebellion, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Sword Fighting, lots of action, then shit goes down, vengeful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25424128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyzygyBear/pseuds/SyzygyBear
Summary: When Philip Lester, the son of the king's most honoured nobleman, goes against his disciplines and ventures into the dark forest at the very bottom of his kingdom, the last thing he could ever expect to find would be a strange young boy living in a cabin within it's depths.Under tense circumstances, he ends up taking the boy under his wing and has just one week to figure out a plan for him, but before he's given the chance, a haunting event occurs. One that makes Phil see the world in a different light. If he could find any light in it at all.But almost a decade after the events of that fateful night, Phil finds himself at the centre of trouble once again after the appearance of Exile, an unruly young man with dangerous intentions, seeking revenge, the king's downfall, and most greatly, Phil's heart.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 33
Kudos: 20





	1. Bittersweet: Philautia & The Forest

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Welcome to my first fic on A03! This story is a two-part type of thing, with the first five chapters being Bittersweet while the rest of them are Reign.
> 
> Bittersweet is kinda like a really long prologue and then Reign is the present day part.
> 
> For anyone that needs trigger warnings, here you go: a lot of violence (mainly sword fighting), mentions of blood and character death (none of which are incredibly gory), internalised and general homophobia and abuse (which, again, isn't too descriptive). If I find any more, I'll be sure to add them to this list.
> 
> This fic is also on Wattpad if you'd prefer to read it there. 
> 
> I've been working on this story for over a year and am very happy with how it's progressed. I'll try and make updates as frequently as possible. With that being said, if you've gotten this far and are intrigued to read on further, I hope you enjoy :3

As Philip Lester cast his gaze about the kingdom of Philautia from the castle's highest tower, he realised just how small his confinements were. The upper class from which he was resided was surrounded by high stone walls that stood tens of feet into the air. It was solely populated by noblemen and women and their children, and maybe even their children's children, all dwelling in large, posh manors.

It was a large area indeed, but what he would've never known without looking from a great height such as this was that the town and lower class dwarfed it. These parts of the kingdom weren't surrounded by walls. Philip guessed that must have been for the kingdom's growth.

He had left the upper class a few times, but that was solely to travel in secret to the marketplace with his family's servants, without his parents permission nor knowledge. He wasn't allowed to leave the upper class and, now, he felt a twinge of anger towards that rule.

Philip had also been told of the forest that sat at the very far end of the kingdom from the castle, but he'd never seen it for himself. It looked like a blanket that had been settled on the earth's surface, and he could see no end to it. Despite all of the terrifying stories Philip had been told as a young child, he longed to venture through it. To see just how astonishingly intimidating it truly was for himself.

But alas, he couldn't do that. Instead, he was stuck at a royal event where every nobleman's son had to court the king and queen's daughter, Princess Vivienne-May.

Philip had no desire to court a princess. It was as simple as that. But, it was mandatory for him; he was within the age limits to be a suitor, so he had no choice.

It wasn't because Princes Vivie-May (as she was more so referred to as) was repulsive or spoilt or even at all overbearing, which is sincerely what Philip had thought and dreaded. She was quite the opposite, actually. He just didn't want to court a princess, and he knew just as much that she didn't want to be courted, which was understandable.

Philip had never understood why royals were to be courted at such young ages. It made to sense to him. All he cared for was play-sword fighting with his friends, reading story books if he ever had the chance and stargazing. Certainly not courting a princess.

There was no spark between him and the princess during the event. He did indeed enjoy himself, however. He may not have felt the spark of affection, but he felt there'd been the spark of a newfound friendship between them. They'd giggled during the dance after he'd greeted her with a soft kiss to her hand and left each other with a formal - yet still very giggly - bow.

But there was nothing between them, and that was okay. Philip much preferred the fact that he'd found a new friend, and that was all that mattered to him.

After his turn, Philip had rushed away from everyone to go where he stood now so he could survey the vast kingdom that extended widely below him, and cast his eyes from one intriguing area to another.

Philip watched the townspeople scatter like mice around the marketplace and throughout the lower class thanks to his height on the balcony. They appeared like ants from where he stood, wandering around with their baskets and their belongings. Meanwhile, the upper class was almost empty, apart from the odd servant waltzing too and fro, in and out of the manors.

It was oddly entertaining. Having rarely ever been in the castle before this very evening, he'd never been able to get to such a high point where he could actually see over the walls of the upper class.

As dusk approached, Philip found himself so engrossed in watching the townspeople rush around that he hadn't realised he wasn't alone until someone smacked him upside the head and started chuckling at him.

"Hey!" Philip cried out, wincing at the unfair blow and placing a hand on the back of his head. He spun around to face the culprit, who just so happened to be one of his closest friends, Christopher Kendall.

"Good, you're still on planet earth. We feared you'd ran away with the fairies." Chris said mockingly, a smirk plastered on his face. He twisted around to call back through the arched doorways behind them, leading to a high, grand staircase, "I found him!"

"And why exactly would I run off with fairies specifically?" Philip asked, giving Chris a disgruntled glare as the boy turned back to face him.

"Well, considering the number of times you go missing like this, who knows what you'd get yourself into."

At that moment, as Philip continued to glare at Chris, two other children ascended up the stairs and out onto the balcony; a boy and a girl, both looking equally as miffed.

"Philip Michael Lester, when will you stop running off?" The girl, Louise, asked begrudgingly. She held the skirt of her baby pink dress up slightly in bunches she held in tight fists as to not trip as she scaled the stairs.

"When he ends up getting his feet hacked off, that's when." The boy, PJ, answered, following swiftly behind her. The two's breaths were slightly shallow from having to chase Chris up so many steps, since he was most definitely the fastest out of the four.

Philip sighed, letting his hand drop down to his side again as his friends stood around him.

"Maybe we should put you on a leash, Phil," PJ suggested, "that would keep you from running off."

Phil went to swipe at PJ, hitting his arm. "I don't need a leash, and it's Philip. You know I don't like being called Phil."

"Alright, _Philip_ ,"

"Thank you, _Phineas-Jay_ ," Philip smirked and briskly pulled up his arms to block a slap from PJ.

While Philip preferred his full name, PJ did not. In fact, he found it rather evil of his parents for giving him what he believed was such a horrific name. However, they each seemed to love the names that the other boy hated so greatly, since they teased each other about it almost every time they got to see each other.

" _Boys_ ," Louise stepped between them after a moment, causing their small fight to come to a halt. "if you weren't arguing so much, maybe you'd realise that all of the children are leaving."

Philip furrowed his eyebrows at her for a moment, before turning to lean over the balcony's stone fencing.

Indeed, children were rushing from the entrance of the castle. They spewed out like water would from an open dam, splitting off left and right to return to their manors, where the family servants would be awaiting their returns.

"All of the boys have had their turn courting the princess, so we're allowed to leave. All of the adults are staying for an evening meal with the king and queen to discuss whatever adults discuss," Louise said, but Philip wasn't necessarily paying attention to her as, upon lifting his head up to view straight ahead of himself, he surveyed a whimsical, dark vapour emanating from within the forest.

"Hey, look!" His eyes were wide as his friends all simultaneously lined up next to him against the stone balustrade that surrounded the balcony's edge. They watched in shock as the dark fumes became thicker the longer and further it billowed up into the air.

"What the-" PJ cut himself off, "How is that happening?"

"Do you think someone lives out there?" Louise asked.

"I bet you everything I own it's a fire-breathing dragon who keeps intruders away."

"Come on, Chris, be more realistic. It's obviously an evil witch who lives in a cabin. If it was a dragon, the forest would be on fire." PJ said, earning a sneer from Chris. He grinned back.

Either would've made sense in Philip's mind. Hell, he imagined both; a sinister witch who lived in a petite cabin with a fire-breathing dragon as a pet. It would almost make sense. The stories he'd been told as a child went somewhat along the lines of people travelling into the forest and never returning. Maybe an evil witch and her fire-breathing dragon was the reason why.

"What if we go in and find out what's in there ourselves?" Philip asked.

His friends stared at him as if he'd just commit a murder.

"Have you gone mad?" Louise gaped.

Philip just gave them a hopeful look, "Come on, you said all of the adults are staying behind, didn't you? That includes out parents. They'll never know we went in there. We'll take our swords with us, and we won't venture in too far. We'll be back up before anyone even realises we're gone."

Louise appeared to be sceptical, however, the two taller boys behind her exchanged a glance before smirks tilted their lips and they were nodding. Philip grinned and diverted his gaze back to Louise, who narrowed her eyes at the three boys. After a moment, though, she inevitably sighed.

"Only if we stay near the forest edge."

Moments later, that were hopping down the hundreds of steps that encircled and wound down and throughout the tower, and rushing down the final curving steps that stood elegantly on either side of the throne room doors.

They'd managed to avoid the eyes of every noble adults in the room as they made their escape, and dodged royal servants carrying trays and linens as they bounded towards the great open entrance, where they finally hustled out. Their shoes tapped lightly against the stone stairs and continued to do so as they ran through the castle's front courtyard, out of the gatehouse, and onto the main avenue of the upper-class.

Together, they sprinted down all the way to Phil's family manor, which was, thankfully, rather close to the castle. One after another, they ran up Phil's doorsteps, ploughed through the door and then scurried across the house - passed the kitchen, where Phil vaguely viewed the maidservant at work making supper, passed the dining room and into his father's armoury.

Louise decided to leave herself in the doorway while the boys dodged an obstacle course of tables, stands, weapons and bits of metal and wood until they finally reached a specific table, which their wooden swords lay upon. They had the new additions of leather wrapped around the hilts so the boys didn't get splinters.

After each boy grabbed theirs, they barged back out, Chris joyously taking the lead with PJ hot on his heels. Louise waited for Philip, who clasped her hand when he reached her, and when they all came to the front door of the manor again, they practically catapulted themselves out, completely bypassing the stairs and jumping straight onto the cobbled street.

And thus, the race to the bottom of the kingdom began.

As they sped down the avenue, Louise and Philip let go of each other's hands and Philip was able to overtake PJ, who had grown weary and in turn decided to grip Louise's hand so they could keep each other going. Chris steamed ahead, giggling as Philip attempted to grab him and hit him with his sword to slow him down.

Before they knew it, they had surpassed the main town, hurried through the lower class (the people having to dodge them as they ran, all prominently stunned to see the high-class children) and now, mere minutes later, they stood at the outskirts of the forest.

Here, the chatter of the lower class was but a mumble and their panting was dramatically audible. The four were short of breath from running so far. Chris doubled over, still gripping his sword as he placed his hands on his knees, and PJ and Louise had to lean on each other to keep themselves from collapsing.

But Philip longed for more. As he heaved air in and out of his lungs, just as breathless as his friends, he loitered tirelessly at the edge of the forest, ready to start at a run again and delve deeper. It was almost impossible to see far into the forest, it was so dense; that was probably what drove Philip to want to explore further the most.

"Philip," PJ panted, "maybe this isn't such a good idea after all...we're exhausted, we can't go on...and it's late...let's go back."

"No!" Philip refused, edging closer towards the looming trees, "We'll be alright, what's the worst that can happen?"

"Famous last words..." Philip heard Chris mutter under his breath, before the boy pushed himself back to his full height, "We could get cursed by a witch or burnt to a crisp by a dragon, that's what!"

Philip huffed with a frown.

"You know how many people have gone missing in this forest. It's too dangerous. We've had our fun. Let's go home." Louise said, her breaths slowing, and with that, the three turned and started to go back.

However, Philip didn't follow. Instead, as his friends' backs were turned, he made a run for it.

"Philip, wait! What are you doing?" He heard Louise yell after him, but he was long gone, sprinting through the forest as though his life depended on it. He hopped over thick roots while hitting low branches out of his way with his sword, and the further he ran, the thicker the forest became, and Phil bet that if he went too far, it would probably become so dense it would suffocate him.

Despite knowing the dangers, however, he adventurously continued, training his memory to make sure he could get back. Soon enough, the trees became so close together that the visible roots surging out of the ground tangled with one another, almost entirely covering the dirt beneath, and the space between the vegetation was just big enough for a human to fit through - or maybe only a child.

With the density came complete darkness as the tree leaves blocked every little inch of sunlight from beaming into the forest. It was an anxiety-inducing amount of darkness, so when Philip suddenly discovered an opening in the distance that let the tiniest bit of light peer through the cracks between some of the trees, he instinctively urged his way towards it.

Soon, the light was almost within his grasp. It stared him straight in the eyes as he edged his way through trees. Philip was finding it hard to breathe, and in fear he'd actually suffocate in this forest, he let out a small cry before, suddenly, the light bombarded his sight.

He could breathe now. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to this bright environment, but once they had, Philip didn't want to believe where he'd ended up - he couldn't, really.

It appeared to be only a place you'd hear of in children's storybooks, as before him stood an enclosed little paradise, surrounded by terrifying, towering trees. It seemed that PJ was correct with his theory that the smoke would be coming from a cabin since such a thing rested peacefully on the opposite side of the small area to Philip, enveloped by a sea of plants and flowers, all a myriad of beautiful colours.

All Philip could hear was the echoing chirp of birds and the tranquil rush of the small, fresh-water spring that wound in from within the trees close by the cabin.

It was lovely. In fact, Philip believed he would've been at complete ease at the sight, if it wasn't for the dreadful reality that someone was most likely living in this quaint building.

Despite this, though, Philip found himself wandering down a path he'd found between the flowers towards the cabin's front door. The place didn't look entirely abandoned, so the likelihood that it would be was slim to none. The place didn't exactly appear to have life within it, though - for the time being, anyway. It was too quiet, and Philip could hear nothing behind the front door once he'd reached it. There was always the possibility that the residents weren't there.

Philip exhaled, ridding his mind of his apprehension. With a sudden wave of courage, he gripped his sword tightly in his right hand and lifted his left towards the dark wood of the door, where he felt the splintered wood poke into his hand. Lightly, he pushed. The door made no noise, and neither did the contents of the cabin.

It seemed empty, so Philip stepped in, holding his breath. He dared not to make a noise as he tiptoed further in, his shoes daintily patting on the wooden floorboards. Taking a sharp look around the room, he gulped.


	2. Bittersweet; The Witch's Boy

_So this is where the smoke had been coming from._ Philip thought as his eyes trailed upon what he saw as a fairly peculiar set up for a place to live, given that he was so used to the spacious luxuries that his family's manor provided.

The inside of the cabin was made entirely of dark brown wood, dimly lit by candles scattered about the open room. Turning left from the front doorway, he happened upon a kitchen and a small dining table for two. Then, as his gaze drifted right, he viewed an odd sort of workspace across the wall opposite to him.

Philip didn't dare walk up to it. He already knew what kind of work it was used for. A line of counters between two large, whimsical cabinets. Notebooks (some opened, some closed), liquids, pots and odd herbs dispersed upon them, and shelves that strung above them, filled with glass bottles of all shapes and sizes. Of course, it was all for making poisons and potions.

Anxiously, Philip continued to wander forward, his steps getting slower the further he went, until he reached two doorways, both with grey curtains drawn across them. The doorway right in front of him had its curtains fully drawn, but the curtains to his right were open a slight bit, leaving a gap. Philip took a peek through, holding his breath once again, to view a simplistic bedroom. It was tidy from his perspective and looked empty of any life.

Philip stepped back once again and huffed, disappointed, but when he heard a slight shuffle coming from the other room, he froze up, only turning his head to the drawn curtains. After a moment of silence, he shifted his body and silently surveyed the room behind him once more. Paranoia made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He heard the shuffle again. A single breath shivered its way out of his mouth, but just as he was going to turn back to the door and go home, a blur darted before his eyes.

Before Philip could comprehend it, a small hand had placed itself over his mouth and he was being pulled back into the room with the slightly open curtains. His sword escaped from his hand and clattered onto the floor as he was thrown to the ground.

Disorientated, he watched a hand - which certainly was _not_ his own - grab the hilt of his sword and take it from his view. Philip rapidly sat himself up, a yell of retaliation rumbling up his throat, but it suddenly got caught in his mouth and he swallowed it back down when he caught sight of who was responsible. 

It was a boy; one that appeared to be even younger than him.

Philip stared, utterly stunned. The boy closed the curtains fully before spinning back around to face him, where he instantly pointed the wooden sword at Philip - as though _he_ was the threat. He held it with both hands to steady his quiver, though ultimately, it didn't help all that much. He could see the boy's hands growing pallor as the sword shook in his grip. He couldn't tell if it was mainly from fury or fear as his brown irises blazed with both.

Initially, looking at him, Philip had been quite astonished that this boy had the strength to bring him down, but that thought could only merely cross his mind as it instead occupied itself with taking in this boy's considerably... _charming_ features. 

His hair matched the colour of his eyes as it flowed in messy waves over his ears and almost to the length of his chin. His skin colour was just a little darker than Philip's own, and Philip could even see that his nose and his flushed cheeks were dotted with pretty freckles.

The boy was small and skinny - he looked around the age of seven or eight, if Philip had to guess - and the clothes he wore were made of cheap, baggy and rough-looking material; all browns, whites and greys. It tremendously opposed Philip's expensive, perfectly tailored clothing; all blues, whites and golds.

Philip managed to catch his breath as he continued to stare at the being who stood before him. He couldn't help feeling a little intimidated.

Staying silent, Philip shuffled back, hitting a wooden desk chair in the process. He cringed as it squeaked in response and looked back to the boy. He too seemed to cringe, as though he was afraid of disturbing something.

Once a silent second passed in which neither boy moved, Philip gripped the back of the chair and got to his feet, surrendering his hands up to the boy when he had. The short boy narrowed his eyes, but after a moment, he lowered the sword down beside his leg. Philip could see his grip was still tight on the weapon, though.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, making sure that his voice was nothing more than a mere whisper, "Just...who are you? And why are you here?"

The boy didn't answer. Instead, he looked Philip up and down, his eyes still narrowed, as though he was asking him the same.

Philip huffed. "Okay, I guess you're not one to talk, so I'll make a simple deal with you. You will give me back my sword and I will leave, and I won't tell anyone that I found this place. Not a soul."

Again, the boy didn't reply, yet his answer was pretty clear by the fact that he took a small step back and pulled the sword further behind himself.

The boy didn't believe him.

Impatient, Philip glared back at the boy with the same cold stare. Then, he jumped at him, aiming to retrieve his sword by force. However, the boy - _whoever the hell he was_ \- darted out of Philip's way before he could even get close to grasping the weapon. Now, they stood facing each other once again, they'd just taken each other's previous places in the room.

Philip scowled at the boy. "Give it back!" He yelled, stepping forward to attempt to grab his sword again, but the boy fluently stepped back, causing Philip to miss once more. Distress in his expression, the boy leapt forward towards him, placing his free hand over his mouth, while the hand with the sword still in reached up to grab the collar of Philip's shirt.

Philip, in turn, reached up to grab the boy's wrists and was about to attempt to pry him off when he heard a shuffle coming from the next room. They both froze simultaneously.

The muffled shuffling continued as the boy looked past Philip towards the drawn curtains until Philip heard a pair of feet touch the floor, and only then did the boy remove his hand from over his mouth. Wide-eyed, he shoved the sword at Philip's chest - which he was just about able to grab before it could fall to the floor - and dragged him out of the room.

The boy ushered Philip through the main room and towards the front door, which stood ajar since he didn't exactly close it behind him. All the while, the footsteps were getting louder, and the louder they got, the more hasty the boy was with pushing Philip.

And then, just as they'd reached the door, the footsteps stopped, and so had the boy. Philip turned around to see that the boy now had his back to him, as before them, in the doorway that previously had its curtains fully drawn, stood a young woman.

Around her late 20s, she was dressed in almost full black - casual robes that flowed all the way down to the leather boots she wore. A single-jewelled gold necklace hung elegantly around her neck. Her dark skin adorned gorgeous freckles - way more than the boy. She didn't seem like your typical, ugly fairy tale witch. In fact, she was beautiful.

But one thing that did seem to compare her to fictional witches was that she looked beyond _furious_ to see Philip in her cabin. So much so that he expected her to fire a spell or grab a bottle of poisonous gas from the cabinet beside her doorframe and throw it at him. However, she didn't do that, or at least, she couldn't do it in time.

Philip saw the look of dread on the boy's face, the fearful hitching of his breath. He saw how he was edging closer in front of him, putting himself between them so this witch could not harm him. Philip narrowed his eyes over the boy's head towards her, gripping the leather hilt of his wooden sword tighter. And then, he struck.

He grabbed the boy's wrist and fled with him. Out of the cabin, across the paradise, squeezing through the gaps between the wall of trees and vegetation that surrounded it, and back towards the kingdom.

He did not stop, nor did he look back, to see if the witch was following. He only ran.

As branches cracked and leaves crumbled beneath their feet, Philip's hand slipped down from the boy's wrist to grasp his hand. It was only when the pair reached the outskirts that Philip looked back, and he swore he could see the horrifying silhouette of the witch far into the obscurity of the dim forest.

Maybe it was real, maybe he'd imagined it; either way, he did not slow - in fact, he hastened - and all at once, darkened rays of light hit him as the setting sky became visible once again.

They had made it back.

Here, they met with Louise, PJ and Chris, who had clearly decided to stay and await Philip's return. There was one thing that the trio definitely couldn't have guessed though: that Philip wouldn't be alone when he managed to make his way back.

Philip could see their baffled expressions upon seeing him with another child, but that changed almost immediately when he yelled, "Run!"

At that, the three sprinted after the two, without even knowing what they were running from.

Part-way through the lower class, Chris managed to catch up with him in order to question in both stun and exasperation, "Philip, what the hell is going on? Where did _he_ come from?"

"I'll explain everything when we get back home, just come on!"

They reached the upper class in no more than ten minutes, and upon reaching Philip's home further up the main avenue, he hauled both himself and the boy down a small alley between his manor and another, and Louise, PJ and Chris joined them seconds later.

Philip twisted around to face his friends, his breath heavier than it had been when they'd initially raced down to the forest. He let go of the boy's hand, but the boy, who was equally as out of breath as him, only gripped onto the back of his blue jacket, standing just behind his left arm.

Louise, PJ and Chris were panting and groaning, feeling like their chests had been set alight. They had to lean themselves against the walls in order to keep themselves from collapsing to the floor.

"Alright...Philip Michael Lester," PJ said between deep breathes, "you better...explain...yourself."

After catching the majority of his breath back, Philip briefly explained, "The deeper I went into the forest, the thicker it got, but I found an opening which had a cabin in it. I found him inside. There was a woman in there too. I think he had been kidnapped by her and was being held hostage there."

"You _think_?" Chris asked, raising an aggravated eyebrow, "So he hasn't actually _told_ you, you've only guessed."

Philip shook his head, "I tried talking to him, but he never answered me."

At that, Chris took a step towards the pair, his stare set on the boy, "Were you being held hostage there?" When he spoke, the boy only cowered further behind Philip's arm and even grabbed it, as though it could protect him, so Chris questioned further, "Were you kidnapped?"

The boy didn't answer.

"Can you understand us?" PJ asked, his tone far gentler than Chris'. The boy nodded.

Philip looked down past his shoulder at him. "Can you speak?" The boy shook his head.

 _That's why he didn't answer me,_ Philip thought, _He can't speak._

"If he understands human language then how can he not speak?"

"That doesn't matter right now, Chris," Louise said with a huff, lowering her dress from - she'd had to lift it away from the ground to run. She looked towards Philip, "You said there was a woman in there. How did you know? Did you see her?"

Philip nodded. "I think she was a witch." He exhaled, lowering his voice just in case someone were to be nearby.

"What?" Chris blurted in dismay, "A _witch_?"

"You brought a boy back from the forest who you believe was being held hostage by, of all things, a _witch?_ What if she cursed you or something?" Louise spoke frantically, "Philip, you know how the king feels about the supernatural! People get burnt at the stake for things like this! It's an act of treason, smuggling someone who has even the slightest connection to witchcraft and magic into the kingdom."

"The king doesn't have to know," Philip notified them promptly.

"What exactly are you going to do with him in order to make sure that he doesn't find out?" PJ asked, "You can't just hide him for the rest of your life and hope for the best. He'll have to go somewhere at some point."

Philip huffed. "I know. If you're really worried about the king then I'll just say it had nothing to do with you guys. This is my problem. Don't worry about-"

Philip was cut off by a bell that chimed from the great castle; a bell that signified nightfall was upon them and that everyone were to get back to their homes and all of the gates around the upper class would be closing.

Louise, PJ and Chris all simultaneously looked back towards the end of the alleyway leading out onto the main avenue.

"We have to go," Louise said.

PJ sighed, "Good luck with your excuse. You're going to need it."

With that, the three exited the alley. Louise split off from the boys as her family's manor was back down the avenue while PJ's and Chris' were next door to each other further up.

Once Philip could no longer hear their footsteps - or anyone's footsteps - he grabbed the boy's wrist again and pulled him towards the end of the alley, where he peaked around the sides to see if anyone was still on the avenue. When he'd concluded that there was no one in sight, he tugged the boy out and lugged him towards his front door, where they briskly scaled the steps and rushed through.

Philip slammed it behind them.

Immediately, the scent of supper being cooked in the kitchen bombarded his sense of smell, meaning the family maidservant was in there and he wouldn't be able to pass by undetected in order to get upstairs to his room as she would see him with the boy.

The only thing he could do was explain everything to her, and hope to God that his parents weren't home yet.


	3. Bittersweet; Refuge & Ribbons

Philip swallowed thickly as he edged closer to the doorway out of the foyer, motioning for the boy to stay where he was as he did. Once he'd reached it, he cast his gaze to his left, viewing the manor's kitchen.

There, a plump maidservant roamed, humming to herself as she wandered to-and-fro throughout the spacious room, taking foods and condiments from one countertop to another, and sprinkling things into the pot on the stone stove. Scarlett, her name was.

With an agile alertness, it was only after a moment that she realised Philip was standing there, as she turned her back to the stove to pick something up from the island countertop. At the sight of him, she tutted, before popping a lid on the pan and manoeuvring around the island to stand before him.

"Philip Michael Lester, you're covered in bits of leaf," Scarlett couldn't help but grin, prominent dimples set in her cheeks, as she picked the green pieces from his jacket and hair, "Where the hell have you been? It's late - I heard you come back earlier, but before I could ask where you'd be going, you and your friends ran out and had vanished out of sight."

Philip plastered on a smile as she proceeded to collect the aftermath of his adventure in the palm of her hand, before she spun around, sauntered back across the room, opened the shutter of a window and threw them outside.

"I went to play with Louise, PJ and Chris," Philip said, and he knew he couldn't be called a liar. It was indeed the truth, just not all of it.

"I can see that," Scarlett chuckled, closing the shutters and turning back to him.

Philip's smile faltered and he began wringing his hands. A concerned expression suddenly dawned on Scarlett's face, "Is something wrong?"

Philip frowned before blurting, "I need your help."

Scarlett had been serving Philip's family since before he was born, along with her younger brother, Ezra. They lived in the manor with them. They'd been like second parents to him all his life, so he'd always confided in them, dare he say, more than he confided in his actual parents.

Philip knew that this sort of situation would be one that his parents could never know about, and he knew that the only people he could trust with help would be the pair he saw more as family than as servants.

Scarlett's eyebrows furrowed. "What with?" She asked calmly, but Philip could hear the flicker of worry in her voice.

Philip felt ashamed at that moment, like he'd disappointed someone. In a way, he knew by doing what he did, he had, but he didn't have a choice whether he could tell her or not. The boy was _in his house_ , for goodness sake, right behind him in the foyer. There was no hiding him now.

"Louise, PJ, Chris and I decided to have a race all the way down the kingdom to the forest." He said, and Scarlett's eyes widened immediately, "They wanted to turn back when we got there, but I ran in..."

Scarlett gasped under her breath, "Philip, you know how dangerous that forest is." She stressed, but the tone of her voice and the look on her face expressed neither disappointment nor anger.

"But we saw smoke coming from somewhere in the forest from the castle, and that's the thing," Philip lowered his voice a little, "I _found_ it."

"Well then, what was it?" Scarlett asked, also lowering her voice.

"A cabin," Philip told her, "The more I moved into the forest, the thicker and darker it became. It was hidden in a small paradise. I could just barely see the light from it through the trees, and I only just fit between the trees to get to it. If it had been night, I would never have found it."

"Did you go into this cabin?"

"I may have," Philip admitted, much to Scarlett's horror, "I didn't think there would be anything inside, though. But I was wrong."

"What did you find?" Scarlett questioned, urgency in her expression.

Philip looked back into the foyer momentarily before he turned to face her again, where he reached for her hand. There, he led her around the wall into the room, where they both viewed the boy, sat coyly on the wooden ottoman positioned next to a cloak stand by the door.

"I found _him_ ," Philip stated gently, letting go of her hand to step between them.

Scarlett's eyes resembled that of an owl's when she saw him, and she was silent for a long moment. Philip knew she would have many things to say, but right now, it appeared she was too baffled to express anything.

"Philip, this is..." She eventually said, gawking in astonishment, ".. _absurd_. We can't possibly keep him here. Your parents are bound to find out about him if we do, and you know how much trouble we'd get in for that."

"That's why I need your help, so we can hide him."

"Don't be so ridiculous. He's a boy, not some sort of dog that can be easily locked up in a shed as long as he's tended to every few hours. We can't just _hide_ him, Philip."

"Well, we're not taking him back," He said firmly.

"Why not? That cabin could've been his home, for all you know."

"Because.." Philip hesitated for a swift moment, before urging himself on anyway, "there was a woman in there. She had this weird sort of working area, nothing like in Father's armoury. It had empty glass bottles sat on shelves and herbs, liquids and all sorts of strange things on the countertops and hung on the wall."

He took a step back towards the boy, "I think she was a witch who was holding him captive there. Please don't send him back, or send him to the king. I beg of you."

Though she still seemed very sceptical, Scarlett's expression softened, and she sighed. Philip knew she'd be wondering what she was getting herself into, but it seemed that she pitied his loving cry for a helping hand in his situation.

Scarlett smiled. "Fine, we'll let him stay here, but only because your parents won't be home for a week," She stated, before briskly wandering back towards the kitchen, remembering the pot on the stove.

"What? Why?" Philip queried, following after her.

"One of the king's messengers arrived while you were gone. He told us that the king wanted to keep your parents for the next week to discuss the courting and other important matters." She explained, reaching the stove again and going to stir the bubbling pot, "He and Queen Rosalind favour you, and they think you're eligible to marry the princess, so your parents will be spending the next week with them, planning for your future."

There was a great sum of pride and excitement in Scarlett's voice, but Philip just couldn't emulate that delight. "Oh."

Scarlett looked back at him in puzzled stun, "What's wrong? Are you not excited about that prospect? This means you could be king one day, you know."

Philip shook his head, "There's nothing wrong, I'm just...surprised."

Seeming slightly dubious, Scarlett turned back to the stove, and luckily for Philip, she changed the subject.

"Anyway, supper's almost done. It's probably best you bring in your new friend. It would be rude to leave him in the foyer." She told him, wiping her hands on her apron and going to walk away from the stove again, "I'm just going to go upstairs and have a discussion with Ezra about all of this. Make sure to keep an eye on the pot for me."

Obediently, Philip nodded, and as she walked towards the stairs, he walked back into the foyer to retrieve the boy.

As the two waited in the kitchen, Philip viewed the boy curiously wander his gaze around the room. He could faintly hear the mumbles of Scarlett and Ezra talking on the next floor as he made sure to keep his eye on both the boy and the pot. Soon enough, Scarlett descended down the stairs and walked back into the kitchen.

"Ezra said it's alright for him to stay, but we most definitely need to figure out something before your parents return," She informed him, going straight for the stove again.

At that, Philip beamed and he looked down next to him towards the boy. "There, you can stay with us for a while." The boy flashed a small smile back.

Philip looked back up towards Scarlett, who was lifting the pot away from the stove, and asked, "Is there anything I can help with?"

Though he wasn't necessarily allowed to, Philip quite enjoyed helping Scarlett and Ezra around the manor when his parents weren't home, and on their trips to the marketplace instead of him going to a friend's, which is what he'd typically tell his parents. Since his parents weren't home now, he felt free to help.

Scarlett hummed in thought for a moment, before she displayed an expression which told Philip she had something for him to do, and she momentarily disappeared behind the island counters to retrieve something from the oven.

"You can cut a few pieces from this," She said, bringing out a warmed loaf of bread and walking to place it further towards him on a counter at the side of the room. "Just be careful, it's quite hot," She added tentatively, grasping a knife that was hung up in front of her, "and I'm sure I don't have to caution you about the knife."

With a smile, Philip obliged and wandered towards the counter. He grasped the knife with cautious hands and began to cut the loaf into thick slices, but it was only when he was on his third that the boy appeared back in his peripheral vision.

The boy silently surveyed him until, for some odd reason, he decided to duck down and walk under Philip's left arm. There, he placed his little hands on the counter in front and placed his mouth against them so his nose was on his knuckles and only half of his face was looking over the side of the counter. It appeared he wanted to get a closer look at what Philip was doing, and maybe even get closer to Philip himself.

Philip was about to laugh and even felt his cheeks flush a little when he realised just how dangerous him being there could be. If he nudged him, he could cut himself or the boy, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Hey," Philip murmured, gently placing the knife beside the cutting board and slowly manoeuvring the boy back, "you could get yourself hurt if you do that. You should never get that close to someone who's using a knife, it's dangerous."

After a small moment, the boy nodded and attentively stayed put by Philip's side until he was happy with the number of slices he'd cut. Then, with Scarlett following close behind with the pot, they wandered their way to the dining room, and once they'd called Ezra down to join them, they ate.

~

Sometime after the four had finished and cleared the table, Philip decided upon taking the boy on a brief tour around his family's manor while Scarlett retreated back to the kitchen to clean the pots and Ezra went about pouring a bath for the boy. Philip was exceedingly quick in showing the rooms on the first floor that the boy was yet to see, like his father's armoury and the maid and manservants quarters, because he was more so excited to show off the magnificence of the second floor.

As they finally came to scaling the stairs, a big window positioned at the very top came into view. It had wooden shutters which were currently standing ajar, letting the evening sun beam in on them.

Upon reaching the top, they turned to wander around the landing, and the drawing room came into view in front of them. One set of closed double doors stood to their rights on the other side of the landing and two more came into view to their lefts further up in the drawing room.

Philip informed the boy that the doors to their rights was his parent's room, and as he followed the inquisitive boy into the drawing room, he told that the remaining doors were his bedroom and the bathroom.

Though Philip knew he was listening, the boy didn't necessarily seem to take note as he seemed to be fascinated with the structures of gold and white that resided in the open drawing room. Philip watched with intent as the boy bounced around the room, taking in everything he could, from the three pristine sofas that were huddled around a white coffee table, to the grand piano and the small bar that they were all facing.

The majority of the boy's interest was set upon the glistening piano that was situated in the far corner from the doorway. He marvelled at it as though he'd never seen something so brilliant in his life.

Upon seeing his great enthusiasm for the instrument, Philip strolled over to stand by the boy's side. "The king had it made for my parents when I was born, since him and my father are practically best friends. My mother's the main one who plays. I've never really had the time or patience to learn though."

The boy's eyes shimmered as he lifted the lid of the instrument in order to see the keys, and for a moment, Philip swore he could see the desire to press down on one in him. But that desire faded quickly, like the boy thought it wouldn't be right for him to place a finger of his on such an breath-taking thing, so he turned his back to it and continued to explore the room.

Philip lowered the lid back over the keys, having his back turned to the boy for a single moment. Since he was able to leave him in the foyer without incident, he thought nothing of it.

Thus, it would only be understandable if the last thing he could've expected was to hear a small voice whimper, "Phil."

Stunned, Philip spun around to find the boy standing before a display cabinet with his little hand trapped in an empty vase. He rushed over and proceeded to gently pry the vase from the boy's hand. After succeeding, he placed it back on a shelf in the cabinet, but he never turned away from the boy. He just stared at him.

"You said my name." Philip said, "But, _how?_ You said you couldn't speak, and I haven't even told you my name." There was a small pause between them as the boy just gazed back at him, before Philip ultimately made the obvious conclusion in his head, "You must have overheard me being called that."

The boy nodded, making sure Philip knew he was right.

"Alright. Well, my name is actually Philip. I've never really liked being called Phil, but I guess it's easier for you to say, so I'll let you get away with it."

At that moment, a sudden recollection came to him. He hadn't even asked the boy for _his_ name. Granted, he'd have no way of telling him unless he wrote it down, if he could write at all, but Philip couldn't help feeling guilty for not asking beforehand. So, despite the barrier, he asked, "Do you have a name?"

The boy appeared to think for a few seconds, before shaking his head.

Philip's eyes momentarily widened, before he shook his head and found himself suggesting, "Okay, what if I give you a name?"

The boy took another moment to think but, eventually, a trusting expression tilted his lips into a smile and he nodded.

Philip hummed in thought, going through all of the names he could possibly give to him. He'd named things before, but never a _human_. He went through a great list, but every name he came up with didn't really seem to fit.

There was George, or Charles, or Henry, Arthur or Martyn, the list went on, but none of them seemed to set off a rightful spark. None of them were _him_.

Then he remembered one in particular that he believed would fit the boy perfectly.

"How about Dan, short for Daniel?" He asked, and the boy grinned and nodded, seeming to like the sound of the name.

Satisfied with his choice, Philip beamed back and decided to formally introduce himself, "Hello, Daniel. My name is Philip Michael Lester."

~

After this, it wasn't long before Ezra had finished pouring the bath, and Daniel went in after both Ezra and Phil made sure he would be able to take care of himself.

Phil decided to busy himself while he waited, so he got himself into his pyjamas before finding a pair for Dan that had become too small for him, carefully slipping them into the bathroom as to not push the doors open too much.

From there, he had nothing else to do but wait on one of the sofas in the drawing room until Dan emerged, clean and fully clothed.

Taking him by the hand, Phil led Dan into his bedroom, where, after closing the doors behind them, he viewed Dan gazing in awe at the sheer splendour of it.

There was a prominent blue, white and gold theme to the room. It had a lit fireplace to the right of the door, and then beyond that stood two wardrobes and a mirror. In the furthest corner diagonal from the door was a huge desk, and to the left of the door was Phil's four-poster bed, which had curtains hanging on every side, and then behind that towered a couple of bookshelves.

As Dan clambered onto the blue linens of his bed, Phil wandered across the room to close the shutters of his window.

The sun had fully set now, he realised, and it would be time for him to get to bed. So, he went about turning down all of the oil lamps around his room, leaving the only source of light and warmth to come from the fireplace.

Once he'd done, he turned to face his bed, where he viewed Dan focusing on folding up the hems of his pyjama bottoms. Phil could see water visibly dripping down from his wet curls.

"Your hair's still wet," He pointed out, stalking forward towards his bedside and opening the drawer of his bedside table. He could see Dan look towards him as Phil retrieved a blue ribbon, and the boy continued to watch him as he clambered onto the bed next to him.

"I remember I had hair as long as yours when I was younger." Phil went on, settling himself behind the boy, "My mother always told me that if I slept with it down when it was wet, I could get ill, so either she or Scarlett or Ezra would tie it up in a ribbon for me."

Phil began brushing all of Dan's hair to the back, and Dan let him. "I got sick of it after a while, so Ezra cut it shorter for me." He tied the ribbon as best he could into a bow, leaving Dan with a cute little ponytail that kept his hair away from his neck.

When he scooted onto the unoccupied side of the bed, he could see that the shorter strands of hair at the front were loose from his updo, but that was no matter. Phil smiled fondly, and Dan smiled back, showing off an adorable dimple that Phil had not yet seen.

As the fire crackled and sparked, Phil drew the curtains surrounding his bed and the boys dug themselves under the covers, both facing away from each other, their backs almost touching.

"Goodnight, Dan." Phil murmured sleepily.

There came no response. Only the rustling of sheets, which made Phil guess that Dan was turning onto his other side.

He felt two hands place themselves onto his back, and Dan further buried himself into his warmth.

_Goodnight._


	4. Bittersweet; Serendipity

The following morning, Philip awoke to the faint smell of smoke, presumably from the ceasing fire in the fireplace. He was in the exact same position he'd fallen asleep in, and as he groggily turned his head to peer over his shoulder, he saw that Daniel was too. But unlike Philip, Dan was still asleep, his breathing soft and slow as he held the bedsheets in tight fists under his chin.

Philip manoeuvred onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows to gaze at the boy. His hair had dried and curled excessively overnight, with some strands even managing to wriggle from the ribbon that Philip had used to tie them back.

Philip smiled fondly and found himself torn on waking him up or letting him sleep. After finding that he just couldn't bring himself to rouse the boy from his slumber, he slinked from underneath the bedsheets, carefully shifted the bedcurtains to avoid the light from the rest of the bedroom stirring the boy awake and quietly went about his morning.

He guessed that Scarlett and Ezra were already awake, since they typically were at this time, as he briskly chose an outfit to wear from one of his wardrobes. He decided to change in the bathroom to avoid awakening Daniel, however, upon entering back into his room, fully clothed and ready for the day, he found that Dan had woken up anyway and had emerged from the bedcurtains. He yawned as he rubbed his eyes, the blue ribbon, which he'd now taken out of his hair, dangling from his grip.

Philip smiled at the boy's early morning fatigue, but it wasn't long before his energy kicked in, and the two soon raced from the room. The boys ate a quick breakfast, before both Ezra and Scarlett ascended back up to Philip's room with them to get Daniel dressed.

Philip took it upon himself to find some clothes from his wardrobe as Dan stood on a low pedestal in front of a white mirror that had glistening gold flecks and amethyst encrusted into the frame. Meanwhile, Ezra went about taking a few simple measurements with a tape measure as Scarlett fastened a pincushion that resembled that of a porcupine around her wrist.

After Ezra had muttered a few incoherent numbers to his sister, the siblings joined Philip in finding something for Dan to wear until they pieced together an outfit which would fit him, and Daniel shuffled off to get changed in the bathroom. When he came back, Scarlett and Ezra went about pinning some of the baggy areas and quickly sewing others.

The outfit they'd decided upon was simple but tidy, and made it so Dan could actually get away with being a noble child. A white and blue shirt, black trousers and a cute black cloak pulled and tied over his shoulders. Ezra polished his brown boots, somehow darkening them in the process, which further complimented the outfit.

It was on this delightful Sunday that Phil decided he would teach Dan how to be a little more socialised, the first steps being correct posture and the formalities of the upper class - specifically, greeting others. _Without_ the need of a voice. He didn't want to push Dan to use his voice. He hoped he'd just learn over time, seeing as it was clear he had one given he'd been able to say Phil's name.

The lesson in posture was pretty easy to follow - straight back, proper walking form, chin up, etc - but there was a lot more to the formalities. All of the different ways to greet others: simple nods, smiles, kisses to the hand and bowing. When to do which, to who and on what occasions. Philip told Dan that bowing was the most important kind of greeting, and he would only ever do that if he found himself before a member of the Philautian royalty or before a formal dance.

Philip believed it all should've bored Daniel, as it did him when he was younger, but Daniel listened with so much intent and intrigue that Philip found himself quite enjoying teaching him the subject.

After Daniel gained his grips on it all and the lessons ended, the boys stood before a good couple of hours until evening dawned upon them, so they spent them reading one of Phil's favourite books.

~

The next day was much more eventful for both boys as, today, it was Dan's first day looking into noble schooling and, afterwards, Philip decided that he would teach him to swordfight.

Noble children were given school lessons in their homes, either by their mother or a family servant, but since Phil's mother wasn't home, it was Scarlett and Ezra who gave them the lesson in the drawing room. Philip was a bright child already, so he decided to put his own learning on hold as he wanted to help Dan learn the fundamentals instead.

Today, they started simple with a lesson in English language and grammar. Phil had the upmost patience as he guided Dan through speaking and writing, helping with word pronunciation and spelling, using his old books that he himself had learned how to read and write from. The lesson lasted until a couple of hours into the afternoon. Then, they got to the sword fighting.

Philip got his sword from his room, which is where it had been placed after he'd left it in the foyer the day before, and grabbed a spare one from his father's armoury for Dan. With the help of Ezra and Scarlett, all of the furniture in the drawing room was pushed to the sides, leaving a safe, open space for them to train.

Philip had been taught to wield a sword (one made of wood, of course) since he was seven, so he already knew quite a bit about sword fighting. He wouldn't be using a real sword for a few more years yet, and there would be multiple more years than that for Dan considering their age gap, but he knew training with a hefty iron blade would be very different from the fair weight of the wooden sabre they currently wielded, and he made sure to let Dan know that.

He taught Dan the basics, along with a few tricks his father had taught him, and gave him tips and techniques when it came to moves, footing and blocking.

Surprisingly to Philip, Daniel caught the gist of sword fighting quickly. He expected his rapid reflexes, since he'd already witnessed them during their first meeting, but his speed - in both memory and movements - was what caught him off guard.

At one point, Dan managed to trip him up when they'd moved their battles from the drawing room of the Lester's to some grassy land behind the manor, which was like that of a shared back garden amongst many families in the upper class, as Ezra and Scarlett worried they'd end up breaking something.

It wasn't long before they were fighting battle after battle, and in no time at all, Philip was made astounded. His sword was sent flying from his hand as he landed on his bottom on the grass, Dan giggling in triumph in front of him.

With a cheeky, vengeful grin, Philip got back to his feet and they continued on with the battle, which only ended with the two tripping each other up and finding themselves on the floor amongst the grass and flowers in fits of blithe, euphoric laughter.

~

In Philautia, noble children were taught to ride horses in the autumn of their eleventh or twelfth year of living. Whatever horse a child chose to train with would be the horse it keeps for as long as life would let it in order for trust and knowledge of needs to be shared between man and horse.

On the following day, a messenger came to the Lester family manor to inform Philip that he would be the first of this year's worth of eligible children to be taught. In fact, it was ordered by the king himself. He was told that he could even bring friends to train by his side so, of course, he chose PJ, Chris and Louise, and he even managed to get Dan a horse too, even though he wasn't old enough yet.

Upon their arrival at the noble's stables, they were greeted by a calm young woman who took them to the five young horses she'd picked out for them. They were all collected inside a small gated area just outside of the stable.

As they entered into the gated area, there were three horses in particular that had some form of intrigue towards the children.

The first came bounding over immediately, black mane billowing over it's beige coat as it wandered over to investigate the newcomers. His name was Jester, and Chris took an instant liking to him.

The other two were a little more relaxed and laid back about the children's presence, but the second, the one with the black and white coat, stepped forward towards them. It stared at the children with a curious yet kind eye. His name was Unity, and it was PJ who roamed towards him.

The other horse hid her sceptical eyes behind a braided black mane, adorning a dark grey coat that had hints of black dotted here and there. Her name was Melody, and she only allowed Louise to find comfort by her side.

But then there was the final two horses, huddled at the far end of the area, either unbothered or unaware of the children's presence.

Since they were the only two left, Philip took a nervous Dan by his wrist and led him towards the two steeds. Once they stood before them, the two horses stopped for a moment to look at them, before they suddenly set off into a bound, chasing each other in a circle around the two. It made the boys' anxiety melt into excitement and they laughed heartily at how goofy the whole situation was. The more circles the young horses ran, the closer they got towards them, until Dan and Phil found themselves standing back to back and the horses had come to a halt, one in front of Dan and the other in front of Phil.

The one in front of Phil was the smallest of the two. As Phil went to pet the creature's dark brown coat and glistening black mane, it nudged its nose towards him. He was charming, but it didn't feel right.

The one in front of Dan was the tallest of the two. It appeared gentle and kind as Daniel cast his touch over the horses white coat and mane, both of which were speckled in a sparkling grey. She was sweet, but it didn't feel right.

"The brown one is called August." The carer's voice spoke out, and the boys suddenly realised that she'd walked to stand by them and pet the horses with them, "And the white one, her name is Asylum. You can't separate them. We've tried, and it didn't end well. It seems to me they'd be perfect for you two."

The boys looked to her, unblinking, and then turned to each other, where they simultaneously grinned. They looked to the horses once more, and almost as though they could read each other's minds, they swapped places.

This was perfect.

Asylum was for Phil and August was for Dan.

After all of the horses were suited up for riding, the children went to the training field up by the castle and trained until the sun set and the bells tolled. Throughout the training, the boys never left each other's sides, no matter the task, and neither Asylum nor August contested. Through walking, trotting and the odd canter, they were always together.

Truly inseparable.

~

After the next morning's lesson of Phil teaching Dan the geography and history of the five kingdoms, including Philautia, the quintet were rushing about in the grassy area behind many of the manors, playing a game they knew as the Figure-8 Game.

The Figure-8 game was something the four noble children had invented when they were younger. Players would stand in a figure-8 pattern, which was often marked out by pebbles, and upon the games initiation signal, they'd run around in said pattern. The rules were that you could not stop at any point, meaning that someone would inevitably bump into another, and on that case, the player would be out and the figure-8 would be made smaller.

Dan was actually pretty skilled at the game, but being the competitive boy that he was, Phil just put that down to beginner's luck. After all, there was really no strategy to it. Just luck, and maybe some good reflexes.

The children played game after game, each with different winners and even ties. And with each game, they became wilder.

During one game in particular, the children decided to challenge themselves by running _,_ all desperate and reckless to get each other out. Chris was out first, who bumped into PJ's back, and then PJ and Louise got each other out as they bashed into each other in the connecting part of the figure, which left only Daniel and Philip.

There had been many showdowns between the two beforehand, but none of them were like this.

In a showdown, players had to run, but were allowed to stop in front of others whenever they pleased. It would be up to the other player's reflexes to stop before they lost. Dan and Phil had done this to each other plenty of times, but this time, the boys seemed to catch onto when the other would try and pull something.

They became more daring as the game went on and, eventually, their vigilance was blinded by joy and temerity. Their shoulders collided with each other at the middle of the figure, sending the pair falling onto the grass. Louise, PJ and Chris cackled on from the sidelines as the boys lay on the floor by each other for a small moment, rubbing their lightly pained shoulders in heaps of giggles.

Before they knew it, the bells had tolled from the castle. Evening was falling into night. PJ, Louise and Chris had gone home and the boys were now back at Phil's.

"You two seem like you had a lot of fun," Ezra welcomed them back, "I have some very exciting news for you, Philip."

Though he was exhausted, Phil was curious, and Ezra's excitement was contagious. As they stood in the manor's drawing room, Ezra revealed to Phil that a special event was going to take place in a few days time for him and Princess Vivie-May. It would also be the first of many, each a sort of test, and passing those tests would get him a step closer to marrying into the royal family.

In all honesty, Phil wasn't too pleased about it, but he masked his disappointment and tried to look on the brighter side. It would be a great opportunity for him to get to know Vivie-May more as a friend.

But Dan knew better. He could see Phil's poignance towards the news, even behind his surprised mask.

Phil couldn't fool him.

~

When he awoke the next morning, Phil found that his schedule for the day had suddenly filled in preparation for the event, and so there was no lesson for Dan.

Now that everyone in the upper class had been informed of it, he had noblemen and women bringing him celebratory gifts all of a sudden, wishing him good fortune and praising him for being chosen as the princess' suitor. All of that between fittings for every item of formal wear under the sun.

The only thing - the only _person_ \- who kept him sane throughout the hectic day was Daniel.

He never left Phil's side throughout it. He watched from Phil's bed as he tried on clothing item after item before the mirror, and helped Philip open the gifts he'd been brought, in which Phil would watch his eyes glimmer with curiosity at each of the items, whether they were sparkly or soft.

When the sun fell over the horizon, signifying the eve of night once again, the two boys snuck off after supper to sit out amongst the stars, grass and flowers behind Phil's manor.

Since there had been no lesson for Dan, Phil decided to bring his astrology book with him, which they flicked through together. Phil was rather glad to see that, of all the things Dan had been taught, this topic seemed to be the one he was most fascinated with, much like Phil himself.

After a while, they decided to close the book and look to the stars themselves. Phil pointed out the constellations and the biggest stars in the sky like he was a professional on the matter, and Dan's face shone with wonder, smile wide and bright, as he listened intently.

"I enjoy looking up at the stars," Philip stated after he'd finished his seemingly endless ramble about the night sky as they sat beneath the blanket of glistening orbs, "I sneak out here often, especially after days as chaotic as this."

Dan nodded to signify that he was listening, but Phil knew his focus was elsewhere as his eyes continued to admire the sea of stars.

"I guess, with you being cooped up in that hidden cabin with lots of really tall trees around it, you've never really been able to see much of them." He added in no more than a mere whisper.

With the smile still curling his lips, Daniel's gaze fell to Phil, who beamed back. At this point, he knew how to say many words, just not enough to piece together a coherent sentence. But, even if he did, Phil believed he wouldn't talk much, if he decided to talk at all. He'd found over the past week that Dan preferred actions over speech, which Phil had taken quite a liking to. It was different; _Dan_ was different.

Daniel averted his eyes to the floor then, where he swept his hands amongst the array of flowers surrounding them. There was a short silence between the two as Philip leant back on his hands and Daniel began picking some of the plants, specifically the yellow ones that resembled tiny sunflowers. He pierced a hole in the stems with his nails and started to weave them through one another, forming some sort of chain with them.

Phil's mind started to race all of a sudden. As he gazed at Dan, an odd feeling made his stomach feel weird. His chest warmed dramatically and his face flushed. Dan hadn't noticed Phil was staring, but he still felt embarrassed for some reason, so he forced himself to look away and cast his mind elsewhere.

Phil exhaled. "I'm going to be a prince, Dan," He muttered, the corners of his lips falling into a frown, "One day, I'm going to be crowned, which means I'll then become king. My future, my entire life, is already planned out for me, and I don't even get a say in it." Dan looked back over his shoulder at Phil as he whispered, "I don't know if I want that."

Daniel sighed, his eyebrows furrowing and smile flatlining into a sympathetic expression as he continued with his mini sunflower chain.

"I don't _want_ to marry Princess Vivie-May," Phil admitted, sitting back up and crossing his legs, "I mean, she's nice, but I just don't see her that way. I don't think there's anything I can do about it though. If I try to get out of it, I'll get made fun of, and people will think I'm weird because, well, she's the _princess_. What boy wouldn't want to marry a princess?"

For a moment, Phil thought Dan wasn't listening, so his frown deepened. But then, as Dan connected the two ends of the chain together, he looked at Phil again and gave him the most genuine, loving and compassionate smile anyone had ever given him. He shuffled a little, edging closer towards Phil, and as he outstretched his arms, Dan rested the sunflower chain on Phil's head.

It was a crown.

Feeling the flowers resting upon his dark hair, Phil watched the boy settle back down and place his hand comfortingly over his own.

Phil's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the stars shimmering in Dan's eyes. It was a spectacle that completely enthralled him; that made the heat in his face and warmth in his chest and the turmoil in his stomach return.

In that moment, Dan didn't need to speak. The knowing glimmer in his eyes and the way his little hand gripped Phil's own told Phil that he was already a prince to him, in their own little world, and him placing the crown of sunflowers upon his head was proof of that.

His eyes alone spoke a thousand words of love and understanding, and Phil could depict every single one of them.


	5. Bittersweet; The Greatsword

Over the lasting days, between their sword battles and stargazing, Phil had decided to teach Daniel how to ballroom dance in preparation for the event. Dan had put his nose up at the idea, but every noble child had to learn, so after a bit of convincing, Phil was able to teach him.

Dan didn't get the hang of ballroom dancing like he had swordfighting. He'd tripped over his own two feet and trampled on Phil's toes more times than Phil could count, but Phil really didn't mind. He was too busy focusing on the way Dan's hand in his made his hand tingle warmly, and he could feel his cheeks glow a blush red and the butterflies soaring around in his stomach again.

Philip had also helped Scarlett and Ezra create a custom outfit for Dan the day before the event. The process made Daniel exhausted as he wasn't used to people fussing over him and hustling him through various styles and outfits; not like Phil was, anyway. By the end of it, he was yawning constantly and Phil had to help him to bed because he was just too tired to walk straight.

Today was a new day. The day of the event.

Adorning their special outfits, the two boys walked up the steps towards the castle's grand entrance. Phil eyed Dan for a moment, his gaze first set upon his face before it fell down to his neck, where the ribbon had been tied delicately around his shirt collar. Phil grinned as he recollected Dan insisting that he wear it by waving it in his face before pulling it around his neck to show Phil he wanted it tied there in a bow. Phil had tied it as best he could, but knowing Scarlett or Ezra could do much better, he offered to have them do it for him. Dan was adamant that he wanted Phil to, though.

The doors to the castle stood open, but were guarded by two motionless knights, letting the light from the torches that burned inside spill out into the night. Being the main guest, neither of the knights stopped Phil, nor Dan, and the pair continued forth into the castle's entrance, where few guests stood to chat.

As they pondered through, Daniel lifted his gaze up to view the hundreds of stairs that spiralled the main tower above him. With the stairway up to the first floor being in the throne room, the stairways here appeared to float. Daniel marvelled at its magnificence. Phil mused at his delight but eventually had to grab him by his wrist and tug him towards the doorway into the throne room ahead of them. The doors into that were open too, and the noise that spilled from the crowd within made nerves twist Phil's stomach.

The pair stopped in the doorway and Phil scanned around for anyone he could recognise, but when his gaze fell to Dan, he viewed the boy anxiously biting at the nails of his free hand, since Phil still had him by the wrist of his opposite. Phil manoeuvred to hold Dan's hand instead, squeezing it for comfort. At the feel of his kind touch, Dan looked up at him and smiled in response, though Phil could still see the anxiety swimming behind his eyes.

Phil looked around the crowd of noble people again, and after a moment, spotted PJ, Chris and Louise standing towards the side of the room, so he wandered towards them, making sure to keep Dan close so they wouldn't be parted.

Their parents were with them also, and when the boys reached them, they congratulated Phil on such an honourable achievement. Luckily, though, they didn't at all question Dan's presence, who had cast his attention from the group to look around at the crowds again.

Soon, the children left the adults to chat and wandered off together, and it was then that Phil found his own parents. His father was standing by the side of the king's throne, talking to King James. As for his mother, she was talking to Queen Rosalind on the steps up to it, and he could just about see Princess Vivie-May with the two women as well.

Phil told Louise, PJ and Chris to stay with Dan, and they did just that as he wandered towards the steps to see his parents. Upon sight, his mother and father roamed up to him and showered him in hugs and praises, and before he knew it, he was standing a few steps down to the side of the throne with his parents stood behind him, awaiting a speech from the king.

The queen and the princess stood by the side of the throne as King James got to his feet, and the entire room silenced in a matter of seconds as their attentions diverted to him all at once.

"Welcome, everyone, to the first of many events which will celebrate the union of my daughter, Princess Vivienne-May, and her eligible suitor, Philip Lester." He began, and the crowd applauded briefly before he continued, "I would like to initialise this memorable occasion by continuing a well-known tradition in the Philautian royal family, where a special gift is presented to the royal suitor for them to use during their future reign."

At that moment, the king gestured to the entrance at the opposite side of the room. A knight walked in with a long object in their arms, wrapped in soft, embroidered fabrics in the Philautian colours: purple, lavender and grey.

Apprehension lingered in the air circulating the room as everyone observed the knight bow towards the royals once they'd reached the bottom step up to the throne, before they walked up and gave the cloaked object to the king.

The king placed one end of the object on the ground, and as he held the top end, in one short motion, he tore the fabric from around it to reveal an incredible greatsword. The crowd gasped and their whispers began to resonate in the room.

The difference between a normal knight's longsword and this greatsword was uncanny. The shining steel blade was longer, broader and sharper, and its curling cross-guard was made of pure gold, as opposed to the silver iron of the knight's swords. The pommel was also made of gold, with a real amethyst encrusted within it, and below that was a shining lavender spiral leading to the grip, which was made of black-dyed leather.

Phil's eyes sparkled in wonder as he exhaled in disbelief. He'd never seen such a weapon in his life. And to know it was his - that it had his _name_ engraved into it - truly, he believed he was dreaming.

Phil felt his mother squeeze his shoulders as he looked back towards his friends, who were in as much disbelief as him. But sweet Daniel, even through his astonishment, showed pride in Phil in the form of a fond smile. Phil felt his cheeks flush.

Consequently, Phil diverted his gaze back to the king, who had gone about explaining how precious and expensive such a sword was while Phil's attention had been elsewhere.

"Of course, this isn't something you'd be able to handle right now, Philip, not just because of your age, but because it weighs, I'd say, almost three of you." The king commented, which earned a chuckle from the guests, including Phil's parents, "You will need great strength to wield such a weapon, so it will be bestowed upon you once you've finished your training for knighthood, and you will further boast it as prince, and then hopefully, as King of Philautia." The king paused for a moment to lift the sword from the floor, where he pointed the blade's tip to the high ceiling, "To Philip Michael Lester, whom I confidently know will be as loyal to me as his mother and father."

"To Philip Lester!" The crowd cheered back, holding up their glasses.

"Let the night begin!"

~

There really was no spark; Phil knew that now more than ever. Even after spending so much time with Vivie-May throughout the night, chatting and getting to know each other, there was really nothing between the two. But Phil was happy with that, and Vivie-May seemed that way too.

They'd strengthened a good friendship tonight and that's what really mattered to them.

The two had spent most of the event together under the watchful eyes of their families, but soon enough, their parents seemed to let loose on what they were doing. So, Phil felt comfortable with taking Vivie-May to his friends and introducing her to them, especially Dan, since she'd already met Louise, PJ and Chris at the courting event.

Fortunately, Dan and the princess got along well, despite Dan's lack of speech. It was almost as though they'd known each other their entire lives, but before Phil could really delve any deeper into that thought, a different pace of music was playing, and the crowd had parted, forming an empty circle; the king had stood from his throne, Phil was standing by the side on the stairs once again as Vivie-May stood on the opposite side, and Phil's friends were standing amongst the crowd.

People merely whispered as the music played and they watched the king take his queen by the hand. He led her down into the empty circle and romantically began dancing with her. Philip's parents joined a moment after, and then, Phil and Vivie-May did also.

One pair at a time, couples began joining in the ballroom dancing and the room lit up with joy. Some couples would stop after a while and wade their way back into the crowd, to which another couple would dance in their place.

It was only a short time later that both the king and queen and Phil's parents left the dance floor to retreat back towards the throne, but Phil and Vivie-May continued because, well, they were enjoying themselves.

They laughed and they chattered, and they even tripped up on their steps at times, but that was okay. They were having fun, just like friends do - just like _kids_ do.

None of Phil's friends joined them, which was understandable as he knew none of them liked ballroom dancing, and, like himself, had no interest in finding a lover yet. Looking over towards the four of them, he saw they were all happy - except for Dan.

As the others joyously talked and joked, there was a prominent frown on his face. He caught Phil's eye after a moment and smiled warmly, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Your friend Daniel seems sullen," Vivie-May announced as they continued to dance, noticing Phil's prolonged attention towards the boy.

"He feels left out, I just know it." Phil lamented with a frown, "I feel bad for him."

Vivie-May furrowed her eyebrows sorrowfully, before suggesting, "Maybe you should dance with him instead. I think it would be a lot more fun for the both of you."

Immediately, Philip's attention darted back to her, where he expressed shock towards her suggestion.

"But...I can't dance with a boy in _public_ , I'd be seen as a queer!" He said, lowering his voice a little, "As fun as it would be to dance with him, it wouldn't necessarily be the best start for me becoming royalty." A bitter tone coated Phil's voice and he grimaced at the thought of taking to the throne one day.

"Philip, you're the future _king_. Believe me, no one is allowed to disrespect you." Vivie-May noted, "You're only cheering up a friend who feels left out. That's all."

There was a silent moment between the two as Phil spun Vivie-May around one last time before the music came to an end and the guests applauded.

Rather breathless, Vivie-May added "You should spend time with Daniel. If people want to judge you about it then I'll just get my father to deal with them."

At that, Phil smiled. The room spun for them both for a moment from them spinning in circles over and over, but it wasn't long before all went still, and Vivie-May took him by the hand and escorted him towards the side of the dancefloor towards their friends.

Daniel seemed confused, yet curious, as she took his hand once she was close enough to him and pulled the two further towards each other. Their hands connected and clasped one another, and so, she let go of their wrists, smiled generously, curtseyed and spun on her heel, making her way back towards her parents by the throne.

The boys looked at each other for a moment, seeming stunned. Phil would've thought his face was on fire had it not been obvious there were no flames licking it.

The musicians began playing once again, just this time, at a faster pace, and at the sound of the exhilarating music, excited grins curved the boys' lips.

The pair let go of each other to bow formally, before eagerly, now without a care in the world, Phil grasped Dan again and tugged him onto the dancefloor, and amongst a crowd of other enlivened, dancing couples, they spun and they danced and they laughed like there was nothing to it. It was one of the sweetest sights of the night as the pair radiated pure joy.

Their hearts pounded against their chests and their breaths heaved tirelessly, but they grew more energetic the more they moved, and though they felt their bodies becoming weary the more they did, their hearts would leap them further into the dance.

The boys frolicked at the feel of the spark that tingled their feet and warmed their chests and tied their hearts in strings that bound them together for eternity.

It was a shame that such a strong spark was blown out so soon by the abrupt end of the music, and stomped on by the clunking booms of boots and heavy armour.

Immediately, everyone stopped dancing and the crowds of guests parted to reveal around half-a-dozen knights storming across the room from the door. Phil believed they were making their way towards the king, so he clasped Dan's hand and was about to tug him to the side-lines with the other guests when the furthest knight towards them drew his sword. Leaping forward, he swung his weapon down on the boys, but missed by just a few mere inches as Daniel shoved them both to the side in time before the blade could hit them.

The crowd of guests gasped and Phil heard his parents yell out in horror as the sword hit the floor with a loud _clang_ and bounced back up.

Phil internally questioned what the hell this maniac was doing. When the knight rose his sword over his shoulder again, he knew it was no mistake. Without a second thought, he grabbed Dan by the hand and fled with him, rushing for the stairs up to the throne. His future greatsword stood prominently a few steps up on an iron pedestal. Philip clasped the sword's handle and pulled it viciously from its stand, knowing it would be heavy. The force sent the pedestal clunking down the steps, and the boy's ascended with it, rushing into the crowd.

Somehow, Phil found himself completely capable of carrying the hefty sword, but knew it was solely down to adrenaline. Knights continued to chase after them as they swerved around guests, who parted as they approached, not wanting to be caught by the harsh blade they had with them. Eventually, they got to a doorway which led them into a corridor, and they briskly dashed down it.

Phil didn't understand. What had he done? Was it the fact that he'd danced with Dan? Had no one made him aware that it was truly a forbidden thing for a boy to dance with a boy? Or...was it that they knew Dan didn't belong here?

No, it couldn't have been. They wouldn't attack a small, helpless boy, especially not with him around. Phil was going to be prince, and then _king_ , for goodness sake. And anyway, the knights weren't allowed to act upon their own accord. If they believed something was out of sorts, they'd have to take the matter to the king.

They were only allowed to act upon something with the king's permission.

_Which could only mean..._

No. Phil didn't want to believe it. This couldn't have been the king's doing, he wouldn't do that.

 _But he has..._ Phil told himself. _This is the king's doing. There's no other explanation._

Tears brimmed his eyes, hot with fury, but he refused to let himself go. His anguish only surged him to persist, so he gripped the greatsword tighter.

The boys had to cower behind walls in order to avoid knights on the look-out while they scurried up stairways and sprinted down corridors. By this point, Phil found that Dan was able to keep up without having to tug him along, so they'd let go of each other, but still stood close by wherever they ran.

The castle was like a maze, which is something Phil never could've guessed looking at it from the outside, or even the inside. He'd never actually had the opportunity to explore further than the main tower and the throne room. It was just a shame that this was how he'd discover the rest.

Eventually, the pair found themselves back on the ground floor, running towards the doorway into the main tower, where their escape via the entrance was just a mere few steps away. Phil was suddenly overcome by boundless determination and relief as they entered the room.

But his heart dropped when something grabbed his arm and he heard a meek cry from behind when he turned to see the culprit.

A knight; hidden next to the doorframe, waiting for them.

As Phil attempted to fight him off, he turned back to see that Dan was being dragged by not just one, but two other knights. They were hauling him towards a doorway with a staircase that went down to the castle's undercroft.

_The dungeons._

"Phil!" Daniel cried out, struggling against his captors. Phil's heart wrenched at the petrified tone in his voice.

At that call, he suddenly started to boil with wrath, and so, with the sheer force of rage alone, Phil rose the greatsword and swung at the knight. He managed to grab Phil's wrist before the blade hit him, though.

Dan was relentless in his struggle, so much so that the knights pulling him away hadn't gotten very far. After a moment, Dan found an open second where he could escape, so he made his move, ducked under the knights' arms and ran to Phil's aid.

The knight who was holding Phil managed to get the sword from his grasp, and in one short motion, flung it behind him.

What he didn't realise, however, was that Daniel was close behind him.

In a flash of beaming silver, Dan was slashed by the blade, and as the sword clattered to the stone floor, time seemed to slow.

The knights froze and Phil let out a shuddering breath. Dan's reflexes had saved him from any serious harm. He was holding his hands over his face, but upon bringing them down, he revealed a stomach-churning laceration above his right eyebrow. Phil felt his heart drop to the pits of his stomach, and it sent an aching pain through his limbs as he watched Dan's hands shake, covered in a deep red from the blood dripping down his face, mixing easily with the salty tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

It was only when time picked up that Phil realised he was in tears also. He felt powerless not being able to help him. His struggle against the knight holding him back was useless, but no matter how hard he tried, his energy had drained.

And in sudden realisation, he found that he was screaming for the knight to let him go. _Begging_ him.

He could only observe as the knights behind Dan lunged for him again. Luckily, Dan shook himself from his stun rather briskly and ducked away from the knights' grasps, diving straight for the greatsword. He picked it up and lugged it for a moment, it scraping across the floor.

_He can't protect himself, it's too heavy for him!_

"Let me go!" Phil screamed hysterically, "Dan!"

With one great tug, Dan hurled it up so it was no longer touching the floor but being hugged to his chest, his blood covering the hilt.

And with one final, heartbroken glance at Phil, he ran.

He escaped through the castle doors with the knights in tow.

Philip felt himself be thrown backwards, and he was released, just like he wished. The knight holding him back raced after the others, after Dan, and ceaselessly, Phil followed. He only managed to reach the top of the stairway just outside the entrance, however, before he felt another grip on him. Then another, and another, and then voices.

Calming voices. Pleading voices. Hushing voices.

Phil was led to believe that he was screaming. He felt his throat burning, felt his voice become hoarse from the cries, but he could barely hear it over the fog of his mind racing.

He felt like he was having a nightmare. One of those really scary ones where a monster was dragging him away. But this was no nightmare. This was far worse than any nightmare his mind could ever conjure.

Soon, Phil fathomed that there was, in fact, a total of five people holding him back and trying to calm him. He recognised his mother and father's voices almost instantly and then heard Louise's, then PJ's and then Chris'.

Phil screamed at the top of his lungs, screamed Dan's name, screamed for them to let him go.

He just wanted to be with Dan. Adorable, curious Dan.

Dan, who had the entire universe in his eyes.

Dan, who crowned him the prince of their own world with a crown made of tiny sunflowers.

Dan, who had his own blood covering his hands, who was running away from vicious knights, from the castle. From Phil.

Soon, Dan disappeared from sight, and Phil found himself collapsing onto his knees surrounded by the comforts of friends and family. His screams were replaced with sobs from a kind of heartache he had never felt before, never thought a human _could_ feel.

Dan was long gone, and that _hurt._

But within his sorrow came a flame that burned, deep down.

_This was the King's doing._

He hurt Daniel, took him away from him. He'd snapped the string that bounded their hearts together and Phil knew he could never forgive him for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The last chapter of Bittersweet! I hope you enjoyed the adorable innocence while it lasted because it gets very hectic and very angsty from here, with a bit of fluff mixed in here and there too, of course.
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed Bittersweet and go on to enjoy Reign when it gets released! Thanks for reading <3


	6. Reign; Word of Exile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reign is here! This is where shit really goes down so I'd strap yourself in. I don't want to make warnings about specific things in order to avoid some major spoilers, so just prepare for a lot of violence and major slow burn lol.
> 
> Unfortunately, updates will be slow due to me starting school again. New chapters will be released every two weeks on either Saturday or Sunday. Nonetheless, I hope you look forward to each update!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! <3

_"If you don't mind me asking, Sire," An unquavering voice spoke, echoing through the now empty throne room, "who was that boy? I've never seen him before, and especially not with my son."_

_"I'm not quite sure who it was, Michael." The 'Sire' answered gruffly, sat upon his throne, "All I know is that it did not belong here, and I have no patience for lower class scum who dare to cross their borders."_

_"I'm sure your reasons for banishing him are ethical and I don't ever mean to question your righteous decisions, but surely such a feeble little boy could not possibly pose any threat to Philautia, or even be a bother at all."_

_"Are you saying I overstepped with my resolve to rid it from my lands?" The Sire asked, his tone mostly impassive, but also somehow elegantly fluid, with a gravelly undertone that plummeted dread into the depths of other man's stomach._

_"N-No, Sire, of course not. It is merely a simple wonder I have."_

_"Very well," The Sire waved a hand indifferently, his elbow resting on the arm of his throne. "You'd be surprised at how much such vermin can corrupt the young minds of the noble."_

_"I see," The other man paused for a moment, "I must apologise, Sire. I fear this may have been at the fault of my son, considering the way he acted towards the boy's banishment. You don't believe my son brought him here somehow, do you?"_

_"Maybe. Your boy is kind and has an unmatched amount of humanity, too much for his own good - you know that. If he is indeed at fault, then so be it. It is naivety, you see. Philip trusts far too easily, so I am not surprised that this..._ fiend _managed to get him to trust it."_

_"I'll be sure to have swift words with him,"_

_"Now now, Michael, there will be no need for that. As I said, he is good, and he is bright too. After tonight's events, I doubt it will take him long to realise his mistake and lament. My knights tell me it retreated to the forest."_

_"Indeed, Sire. How do you suppose we prevent him from returning?"_

_"I'm sure that we won't have to do anything. I don't believe we'll be seeing it again, whether it lives to see another day or not. It will not be a danger."_

_"I hope you are right, Sire."_

_The man on the throne nodded and there was a swift pause between the two before he spoke up again. "Despite this occurrence ruining the night, I am rather glad it happened. It has brought me a new revelation. That child could've been anyone. At least we know now how easy it would have been to get to either me or my family."_

_"I'm very fortunate that it wasn't the worst."_

_"Thank you. You have always been so loyal to me."_

_"Of course, Sire."_

_"How many times do I have to tell you, Michael, you are more than just a nobleman to me. Call me James."_

**~**

Phil awoke to the faint smell of smoke, presumably from the ceasing fire in the fireplace; like he did every morning. And like every morning, as he begrudgingly turned onto his back beneath the warm comfort of his bedsheets, he felt hollow. As though something was missing.

_Dan._

Even after so long, Phil refused to think of him as just a distant memory. There was rarely a moment where Daniel left his mind. He saw him everywhere, thought of him wherever he went; in his dreams, in his nightmares, in his sudden recollections of that god-awful night. Even when he was just simply pottering about his family's manor or performing the mundane tasks his life was full of. Everything just seemed to remind him of _Dan_.

After a while, Phil found it easy to act like he'd forgotten - to put on a mask that showed courage and poise after something he evidently found so traumatic - but in reality, there was never a point where the boy slipped from his mind. At least, not for long anyway.

He often liked to think of what Dan would look like as he grew older. Phil knew he must have been just a few years younger than himself when they'd met - around the age of seven or eight, which would make him seventeen or eighteen now. He imagined him still with his long wavy hair, tied back with the blue ribbon he'd ran away with, allowing him to wander through life without it getting in his eyes. Phil imagined him taller, but not as tall as himself, just like when they were kids. He imagined he'd grown handsome from his adorable charm, but would still have that same angelic, knowing look in his eyes.

Phil smiled for a moment, before suddenly feeling his stomach twist with sorrow and guilt, and as quickly as it came, his smile faded.

He'd grown to not mind the memories that constantly plagued his mind, but he knew it would drive him crazy one day.

However, if that didn't drive him mad, he was sure it would be the persistent pounding that came from his bedroom door at the same time every single morning. It was always supplied by none other than Sir PJ Liguori, as he would yell at the top of his voice for Phil to get his lazy arse out of bed. Yeah, that definitely would.

There used to be the added addition of Sir Chris Kendall, after a few unsuccessful knocks and shouts from PJ, barging into the room and dragging Phil from his bed by whatever means possible. That kind of wake up call had gone on since the trio had made it out of training into knighthood a couple of years ago, but after a few months of putting up with being viciously heaved from his sheets, Phil had had enough of it and decided to use a plank of wood as a door lock, which he could slide through the door handles, locking him in and anyone who wanted to intrude out.

However, this then meant that the beating of his door became twice as loud as, since Chris could no longer barge in, he figured he'd make it sound like he was at least attempting to.

Every. Single. Morning.

After around a long minute of hearing fists slamming into wood, the noise stopped and, instead, PJ yelled, "Phil, seriously, come on! It's urgent. We've just been sent orders from the king, he wants to see us as soon as possible!"

With a low grumble, Phil threw himself out of bed and went about getting himself ready.

He'd kept his vow to never forgive King James for what he did, but he still had to serve him - he had no choice over that matter. But, deep down, Phil longed for that bastard's downfall, whether it would be by his hand or someone else's. After all, Phil had been made another greatsword when Dan ran off with his first, and as he looked to the sword, hung up by the door on his bedroom wall, a sick thought made his mind ponder.

_Wouldn't it be ironic if the same sword King James had specially made was the same one that defeated him?_

~

Upon the trio's entrance into the castle's throne room, King James beamed from his position on his throne. It turned out he'd only asked for the three specifically instead of all of his highest-ranking knights like he usually did. He hadn't even asked for the presence of Philip's father, who was his right-hand man and, quite frankly, his best friend at this point.

"Ah, Philip, Christopher, Phineas-Jay, how good of you to make it here so swiftly." He greeted them pleasantly as the boys stopped before the steps up.

In the corner of his eye, Phil saw PJ look to him and Chris, to which Chris' jaw clenched as he attempted not to laugh at the dulled expression on PJ's face while the king had his attention turned to a servant, whom he shooed away. PJ still hated his full name, but guessed him being called it by the king had something to do with formalities between knights and royalty.

Phil, however, had completely changed the view he had on his own name. He hated being called Philip. It reminded him of a time before he knew Dan, which he honestly couldn't remember much of. It was all a bleak and hectic blur, really.

After a moment, PJ looked back to the king and asked, "What is it that you need from us, Sire?"

"I have different tasks for the three of you," King James said, "Christopher and Phineas-Jay, I need you to detour from your normal duties. I've been informed that a strange beast has been spotted by guards wandering around the lower class."

"A strange beast?" Chris questioned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"A wolfdog, to be exact. Seen without an owner. It appeared suddenly some time ago, but a knight swears he saw it coming from the forest one day. A lot of the peasants appear to know it somehow. They give it things, and as for where it takes them, I'm unsure, but since neither the peasants, especially the farmland owners, to my knowledge, own such a difficult breed of dog, I need the two of you to go around and ask about it. Bring whatever you find out back to me."

"Yes, Sire." Chris nodded, and with that, the two bowed to the king before spinning on their heels and wandering from the room to their new duty.

"As for you, Philip," The king went on, "I apologise for having to bestow this upon you once again, but there is another duel that will be taking place for you today. Another young noble wishes to put your honour and sensational fighting skills to the test again in order to have my daughter's hand in marriage. I have no doubt that you will be able to stand your ground like you've done so many times thus far, so you should be fine."

"Of course," Phil nodded, "I'll prepare straight after my dismissal."

"I'm aware that it must be an irritating duty at this point. If I'm being completely honest, I'm utterly baffled how others believe they can stand up to your prowess." King James said. Phil was quite stunned at the compliment, but felt there was an underlying acidity to it somewhere that he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"They solely want the throne and the power that comes with it," Phil said, "that, to me, is merely a bonus of marrying Princess Vivienne-May."

King James flashed a lopsided smirk. "I do wish others your age were as impeccable and courteous as you are. You're a spitting image of your noble father. I knew I was right to believe you are the best suitor for my daughter, and would be a brilliant king after my time."

"I only strive to do what is right, Sire. Nothing less."

~

Phil felt his jaw clench as he blocked yet another attack from the other man's sword _._ The temptation to just let this bastard win was appalling, but if he were to let that happen, his honour as one of the best young knights Philautia had ever seen would go with it, and he was sure he'd be made a mockery of by everyone who'd ever known him.

He didn't need that, so he continued on with the fight.

King James looked on from his throne, with Queen Rosa and Princess Vivie-May stood either side of him, as other high nobles, including his parents, watched on from the sidelines.

Ultimately, Phil, of course, ended up winning, continuing his seemingly endless reign as champion. He'd knocked the weapon from the fellow young man's hand and kicked him down, drawing the tip of his greatsword to his neck. But, he spared the knight of anymore pain and helped him back up, like he did every other, and as the crowd cheered on Phil's behalf, he shook hands with him. After the fight, Phil was praised by many, even the man opposing him.

Soon enough, evening fell upon the kingdom, and as Phil spoke to his mother a few steps down from the throne, PJ and Chris finally returned, marching into the throne room and stopping before the steps.

At their entrance, the king sat forward in his throne, intrigued, and asked, "Anything from the peasants, boys?"

"Yes, Sire. Apparently, the wolfdog belongs to a man who lives and works amongst them." Chris said.

"And the identity of this man?" King James asked on.

"His true identity is unknown," PJ told, "Almost every person informed us that they only ever see him during the night, and he wears a cloak and has his face partially masked, so they don't even know what he looks like."

"They do have a name for him though, Sire," Chris added, "They refer to this man as _Exile_."

There was a slight pause as King James drew in a long breath before he exhaled quickly. "Thank you, you two. You are dismissed."

With that, PJ and Chris bowed to the royals and left again.

~

As the sky fell dark, Phil's mother decided to return back home and Rosa and Vivie-May retreated to their rooms. Upon request, Phil's father stayed with King James in the throne room. Phil decided to have a simple wander about the castle; he hadn't explored it in a good while.

The corridors were dimly lit and Phil's footsteps echoed eerily. Large torches were placed on window ledges so the smoke of the flames would flow straight out into the external air. There were very few servants walking around at this time, wandering from room to room to complete their work. There were also a few guards whom Phil would walk by every so often, but nothing was conversed. They would simply nod to him respectfully, and he'd nod back.

When he reached the second floor corridors that had balconies overlooking the throne room, Phil slowed to a halt at a corner where neither the king nor his father could see him. Phil, however, could see them perfectly well. He watched the king slump back in his chair - something he rarely ever did in front of company.

"What is troubling your mind, James?" His father's voice resonated as he stood by the side of the throne.

"I'll be honest, Michael, I have a very ominous feeling about this." King James uttered in a low tone.

"Do you fear who this _Exile_ may be?"

"Not fear, I'm just simply very suspicious about it,"

"That it could be... _him_?"

King James nodded, staring off into the distance of the room.

Phil's eyebrows furrowed. _'Him'?_

"Perhaps we should see into things," His father suggested, "Check if this man is him or not."

"No. He doesn't appear to be dangerous, whoever the hell he is. We shall not act upon it as of yet. We will wait until he appears again." The king said.

"As you wish," Phil's father nodded.

Phil ushered himself further behind a pillar and faced away from the room, casting his eyes to the floor. He couldn't help the ignition of curiosity that flared in his mind. He knew what exile meant, but felt himself become physically sick when he dared to think of the only person that could be called such a name as Exile; the same person his father had referred to as _'Him'_. Phil scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head in a lethargic attempt to rid the thought from his mind.

But then, he heard his name, echoing softly in his head.

He knew the voice, of course he did.

When he opened his eyes and averted his gaze back up, a misty figure stood before him. It didn't make him jump like it probably would've had it been a real person.

Instead, Phil smiled dejectedly at the sight of Daniel - older Daniel, the figure of his imagination. He stood against the wall opposite him, curly brown hair partially tied up with the blue ribbon, the rest flowing over the back of his neck, and with that familiar knowing glimmer in his eyes.

He smiled back at Phil.

None of this was real, Phil knew that. He knew this was a way to cope. He also knew it wouldn't help him in the long run. But it made him feel like Dan was still _here_. He knew it wasn't good for him, and he didn't care.

Dan was gone, and that was that.

Phil scrunched his eyes closed again, and when he opened them, Dan's ethereal form was nowhere to be seen.

With that, he walked away, knowing that it wouldn't be the last time he'd see him.


	7. Reign; Peaceful Defiance

Midway through the next day, once Phil had returned to the castle from one of his duties, the royals were informed by knights that they had seen the wolfdog again, wandering throughout the lower class.

Just this time, it had its owner with it.

The knights explained that the man was wearing a cloak and a mask, just like PJ and Chris had declared the day before. One knight told that it seemed as if the man knew they were watching him, even though he paid them no attention at all, and they had an odd feeling about him. The king dismissed them briskly, leaving himself, Queen Rosalind, and Phil's mother and father in the throne room.

Philip only knew of the exchange because he'd overheard it from the second floor's main corridors that offered anyone roaming through a vast view of the great throne room. Again, he'd eavesdropped, just like he had the night before, but he'd been speaking with a guard called Thomas, whom he'd recently come to know, so it was a little less obvious that he was doing it.

However, Thomas had now briskly excused himself all of a sudden. He had seemed to be in a rush, which Phil found to be a little odd since he was given no explanation. He just put it down to Thomas having to get to a certain duty, so he didn't dwell on it and instead simply hid behind a pillar again so he could continue listening.

From there, he saw that King James seemed unsettled by the news, and spoke out to his three closest confidants that he felt rather uneased given the brilliant timing of the appearance. After all, he'd only just mentioned his worries of Exile's identity the night before.

He told that he had a suspicion that someone within the castle was relaying on messages to this man somehow, but Queen Rosalind was quick to object, stating that such a theory was absurd and James had nothing to worry about. So, for the time being, James settled, thinking nothing of the man's presence.

Phil slipped into a nearby corridor, a hopeful smirk threatening his lips.

**~**

The next day, Phil, PJ and Chris had a common duty to fulfil in the marketplace, where they observed the townspeople to make sure order was being kept. And, of course, they 'kept order' from the comfort of a couple of large blocks of hay conveniently placed next to the portcullis into the upper class, allowing them a nice space to chitchat.

"The king's really _that_ paranoid that he thinks someone in the castle is communicating with that Exile guy somehow?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat upon one of the bales, tying one of his boot's laces after it had come loose.

Phil hummed in confirmation and nodded, leaning back against an identical hay bale that had been placed perpendicular next to it. Louise had sat upon the same bale, dusting off her dress, and Pj stood leaning against Chris', picking at the wrapped-up straw and flicking it to the cobblestone floor.

"He's scared most of his servants and guards half to death by this point, so how he believes one of them would go against him like that is baffling to me," PJ said.

"I'm telling you, the man has gone mad. I've thought King James wasn't right in the head for a long time, but I didn't he was _this_ demented-" Chris was quickly caught off guard when Louise shushed him all of a sudden. "What?"

Louise rolled her eyes before nodding towards something behind him. The three boys immediately turned their attention to see an old noble standing next to his servant.

"Oh god, not this twit again," PJ said under his breath.

The noble was called Mr Richard, and he was known by most for no good reason at all. He was an ass; an overprivileged, foul sonofabitch who only respected those on the same level as him or higher. Well, he'd respect them to their face.

It was safe to say that all four of them hated the man with a fiery passion, as did the rest of the kingdom. Phil was lucky to say that he was one of the few people who were viewed as superior to him, given he was practically guaranteed Philautia's throne. And, since he'd grown up with PJ, Chris and Louise and was therefore very close with them, the bastard had no choice but to respect them too. So, luckily, they didn't get much shit from him either.

He never thought twice about stirring trouble in front of them, however. Mr Richard was known for making a scene no matter how minuscule the issue was, and no matter who it was in front of.

"I don't understand. If he hates the lower class people so much then why the hell does he even come down here in the first place?" Louise asked.

"Because he's an arse," Chris said, tightening his boot laces with a final yank, "He gets a kick out of watching the crowds disperse in fear at the sight of him."

They observed Mr Richard speaking, rather rudely, to his servant, most likely ordering them about what he needed. After a moment, he shooed his servant away and stood there, placing his hands on his hips and looking around at the people. The quartet often had to bite down on smirks and stifle their laughter when they saw the noble acting so high and mighty, but this time, their attention quickly diverted to a group of children that ran into view from between two of the shop stalls.

Townspeople held no grudge as they dodged out of their tracks, and most of them chuckled as the children weaved their ways through the crowd. The group consisted mostly of little girls, all of whom held bunches of flowers in their hands, which they promptly gave out to everyone they passed. But there was also a single boy amongst the group, seeming a little younger than the girls, who was dancing and prancing around with a single flower in hand, keeping it to himself.

Phil's heart fluttered with an overwhelming amount of fondness, and he couldn't help but let a grin bend his lips. Louise, PJ and Chris beamed and chuckled at the children's delight.

But, like many things in life, it was bittersweet.

As the group passed Mr Richard, the little boy was stopped abruptly and the flower was ripped from his grasp. The noble tore off the beautiful petals and snapped the stem in half as the little boy watched on in horror, his eyes glistening heavily with tears.

From their position on the hay bales, the four friends, utterly disgusted with what they had seen, faintly heard Mr Richard sneer and say, "Flowers aren't for boys," before he threw the remains to the floor and stomped off into the upper class.

Pure fury bubbled amongst Phil and his three friends.

As Mr Richard went to leave, Chris hopped from the bale he sat upon and was about to give him a piece of his mind, but PJ placed his hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly, keeping him from potentially beating the noble to death.

Chris took a breath and the boys all shared an angered expression, but Louise's had melted into a sorrowful frown as they saw the boy sob quietly.

It was knowing that the boy knew he had no voice to oppose Mr Richard that made Phil livid. His jaw clenched so much, he felt his teeth could've cracked, and he could feel his nails cutting into the skin of his palms. In fact, he was about to move forward from leaning on the hay, his mind and heart set on comforting the boy when, just as he was about to do so, something beat him to it.

All of a sudden, a black and grey flash ran from the crowded marketsquare to console the boy, and immediately, the four friends froze in astonishment.

"That's the wolfdog," PJ murmured, shock obvious in his tone.

The dog was far different than any of them could've imagined. No terrifying red eyes, no viciously sharp, bared teeth. Although, even stood on all four legs, it had a daunting height, standing almost as tall as this little boy. But that only gave it the advantage of being able to lick the tears from the boy's face, which was a method that seemed to work as the boy quickly started giggling.

Phil momentarily looked to his friends, who looked back, and saw that they shared a pleasant beam. However, apprehension lingered amongst them, and maybe even the slightest bit of anxiety.

This dog belonged to the very man that the king was so paranoid about, so Phil knew that, wherever this dog was, Exile could indeed be somewhere nearby.

And he couldn't have been more right.

Seconds later, a man emerged from the crowd. Cloaked, hood up, and with a black veil covering the bottom half of his face, completely shielding his identity, he stuck out like a sore thumb. As he approached the boy, Phil noticed that the man held one hand in a light fist, as though he was holding something in his palm. Upon him reaching the boy, he crouched to his height.

The four friends straightened up in their positions, a mix of anticipation and curiosity in their characters.

"Don't listen to that fool," The four friends faintly heard the man say. The tone of his voice was delicate and sweet, yet affirming, confident, and even seemed vaguely resentful, "Boys can pick, grow and care for flowers just as much as girls can, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, especially him."

The boy sniffed and rubbed his eye, but he smiled meekly.

"Take these," The man went on, uncurling his fist to reveal what he held. Though there was some distance between the foursome and the beautiful scene that was unfolding before them, Phil could tell what it was almost immediately; _seeds._ "You can grow your own flowers with these, and as long as you take good care of them, they can last forever."

"Really?" The boy asked.

"Really."

Phil, Louise, PJ and Chris could only stare in disbelief as the man gave the seeds to the boy, who gripped them tightly before he leapt forward and hugged the man tight.

"Thank you!"

After a second, he let go of the man and ran off back to re-join the group of girls. There, he joyously flaunted his gift.

The four friends had warm hearts once again, they couldn't believe what they'd just witnessed, but they simultaneously froze stiff when the man looked to the four of them. He politely and silently nodded to them, before looking to his dog, telling it to heel, and disappearing back into the crowd.

"Of all the things I could've expected to see today, that certainly wasn't it," Louise said after a moment, sighing comfortably.

Phil smiled, "At least we know that the king has nothing to worry about now."

"Well, you never know, Philly." PJ shrugged, "People have their dark secrets. For all we know, he might not be as sweet as he acts."

~

Later in the day, PJ and Chris took the sighting back to the royals and informed them of the events that had unfolded.

King James expressed a form of relief in the fact that this man seemed kind, but appeared to still hold at least a little suspicion. He even displayed some bitterness towards Exile's defiance against Mr Richard's standards, which Phil had subtly frowned upon and rolled his eyes at.

Soon enough, the boys were dismissed and they retreated back to Phil's family manor, where they all collected in Phil's room. After a while of meaningless chat, the subject suddenly changed to Exile.

"Do you guys think it's _him_?" Chris asked as he leant against one of Phil's bedposts, his tone almost cautious, as though he was trying not to anger a beast.

"Who?" PJ asked, sat at Phil's desk.

Chris seemed to hesitate, before responding delicately, "Daniel."

Phil cringed at the name. He knew it would be brought up eventually, that people would start wondering if the little boy who had been banished almost a decade ago was this strange newcomer who had just popped up out of nowhere. He knew it made perfect sense, that it was indeed entirely possible, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it.

Chris went on, "You don't think it's him, do you?"

PJ shrugged his shoulders but knew that the question wasn't directed towards him.

Sat on the edge of his bed, Phil exhaled sharply. The topic of Dan rarely ever came up these days, mainly because of the entire façade that he'd gotten over him. Forgotten him, even. So, when the topic did arise, he had no choice but to continue the act of being unbothered by it - even with his best friends.

"I doubt it." Phil said, momentarily replacing hope with reasonable logic, "If I knew him like I thought I did, then I know he would never return back here, especially knowing it could potentially get him killed."

"You never know, Phil," PJ shrugged, "He could've changed after what happened."

"No," Phil snapped. Though his tone was still rather soft, the word came out forcefully and far more harshly than he intended. He stopped for a moment to take a breath before he went on, "And anyway, in a forest like that, I'm sure he died long ago. I doubt he would've been able to find his way back to that cabin."

_And it's all my fault._

~

Briskly, PJ and Chris left Phil be after that, stating it was because they had duties to fulfil for King James. Phil knew it was because they rued bringing Dan up in front of him though, and probably thought that leaving him to his thoughts was the best option.

Now, Phil sat alone in his room. For some odd reason, he'd decided to seat himself on the floor in front of one of the shutters of his window, while the other stood slightly ajar to let in the crisp, January breeze.

Evening was on the horizon, so there was less of a buzz outside, meaning Phil could concentrate more on writing in the notebook that he had in his lap.

He was writing about Dan. More specifically, he listed all of the times in the day that Dan came to mind; where something or someone had reminded him of Dan, either creating his present image in his head or just making him think of him in general.

He wrote these lists daily, mainly to keep him on track as to whether the reminders or appearances were getting better or worse; if his mind was driving him more or less insane.

Phil was halfway through writing the last mention, about his conversation with PJ and Chris, when a voice knocked him from his concentration.

"So, what do you think of this Exile man?" The voice asked, resonating from outside on the main avenue. It was that of a female's voice, and since Phil could hear two sets of footsteps, he guessed that she wasn't just talking to herself.

"What do you mean?" A gruff voice queried back. It made Phil roll his eyes dramatically as, even without having to sneak a peek, he recognised who it belonged to instantly. It was Mr Richard.

"Well, do you think it's that little boy? The one Sir Philip was friends with years ago before he was chased away from the kingdom?"

Phil felt a sudden pang of dread. An irritated type of adrenaline coursed through his veins at the sheer fact that these insignificant, stuck-up people even _dared_ to speak of Dan.

He heard Mr Richard grumble before he said, "I bloody well hope not. To this day, I still cannot believe how foolish Philip was to trust and take that boy under his wing. He probably taught him so many things that he could use for a rebellion, being the naive child that he was, and still is."

The grip Phil had on his inky quill tightened as fury bubbled hot in his chest, so much so that he could feel the heat rising up his neck.

"God forbid if this _Exile_ is that boy." Mr Richard went on, "I hope he's dead, or at least long gone, and as for Philip, well, I'll pray for Philautia if he is indeed going to be it's king one day."

Phil stopped focusing on their conversation then, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on controlling his quivering breaths instead as their voices faded down the avenue.

That bastard could say whatever he wanted about him, but speaking of Dan in such a way - wishing him dead - that angered Phil more than anything else ever could. Indeed, he had said Daniel was probably dead earlier on, but he didn't hope for that. He longed for the opposite.

It was almost like Mr Richard knew he'd be listening, and even if that was so, what was he expecting? Was he expecting Phil to lash out, giving him something to take back to the king so his future position on the throne would be taken away? Or was he trying to make him regret trusting Dan by making him think he would come back for blood?

Based on what he said, Phil knew it was probably both, so he pushed it all to the back of his mind and continued writing, despite the overwhelming urges to prove that noble wrong in every way he possibly could.

~

_Somewhere, a herb was placed into a mixture. It was stirred. As delicious as it looked, the man knew it most certainly wouldn't have been smart to attempt to try a taste._

_There was a dog laying on the carpet behind him, dozing peacefully._

_The man idled for a moment, his gaze on the mixture before him. Then, satisfied, he poured the mix into a small tin and walked towards the oven._

_He put the tray into the oven, and from there, he waited._

_A malicious smirk perked his lips._


	8. Reign; All Is Not What It Seems

Even as the sun beamed down upon the kingdom, blessing its people with warm rays amidst the cold chill of winter, Phil felt oddly uneasy about the new day.

His days weren't exactly extraordinary, but he rarely ever felt like something would go horribly wrong. The only times he'd be punched by sudden dread the instant he awoke is when he knew he had some form of stupidly important duty to fulfil in the following hours, yet that was nothing compared to this. He'd never felt like this before, and since today was supposed to be a fairly uneventful day, he had no viable explanation for it.

Still, despite how he felt, Phil had duties to tend to, so he braced himself for whatever malice he'd have to face and went on with his day.

A little later on in the morning, he, PJ and Chris were standing at the top of the kingdom wall between the high class and the marketsquare, overlooking the hustle of the town.

Phil had a child-like fascination towards the task. No matter how many times he was positioned up here, he never got bored of watching the townspeople scramble like bees in a hive. Maybe it was because every person had a different story to tell; that they each had completely different goals for their day, even if some were flocking towards the same stall. PJ and Chris thought otherwise, of course, but Phil didn't care.

Or, maybe it was simply that, even though he was almost 21 years of age, Phil had never gone any further than just outside of the higher class' walls - apart from when he used to accompany Scarlett or Ezra to the market, of course. But the last time he'd been allowed to do that was over ten years ago. Now, the only times he'd ever be allowed out were for duties, not his own curiosity, and even then he wasn't allowed to stray too far from the kingdom wall.

The majority of those who roamed the square on this morn were adults since most of the children would be attending the lower class' public school. However, there was the attendance of small children being swept through the square by their parent every now and then, often carried so they wouldn't be trampled by the energy of the fellow townspeople.

At some point into the watch, PJ and Chris stood to sudden attention when Phil spotted Exile wandering into the market square. His wolfdog was strangely absent from by his side and he appeared to be holding a plate of baked goods, which he had to elevate above the heads of others at times as to not send them falling to the floor as a result of crashing into someone. He weaved fluently through the crowd like a weaving thread, until he reached a specific stall that was offering baked goods similar to his own but varying in their own ways; all freshly baked treats that the average townspeople wouldn't have the time to make.

But the boys couldn't focus on what Exile was doing for long as something else briskly caught Chris' attention.

"Oh, for goodness sake. Not _him_ again." He said exasperatedly.

Confused, PJ and Phil diverted their attention towards Chris' source of irritation, only to see Mr Richard wandering below them.

PJ made a whiny groaning noise in the back of his throat. "This is the twelfth day in a row of him marching in for no reason, can he not catch a break already?" He asked rhetorically, leaning forward and propping his elbows upon the low wall they stood before, "Surely putting all of your energy into making the townspeople miserable _must_ be exhausting."

"Well, what else do you think he's going to spend his energy doing?" Chris questioned with a sneer, "Trying to make the kingdom a better place? Or maybe trying to help King James patch up the alliance we once had with the other kingdoms?"

Phil simply exhaled, his breath forming a light fog in the air. His eyes narrowed in distaste as he trained his gaze on Mr Richard's movements.

After a moment, Chris spoke up again. "So what kind of trouble do you think he's going to stir up today, then?"

"I don't know," Phil said, a slight growl in his tone, "but I have a feeling it's nothing good."

"We'll keep a close eye on him," PJ lightly pat Phil's shoulder in a reassuring manner, "He _and_ Exile."

For a while, there was nothing. Phil, PJ and Chris found themselves settling at the fact that there appeared to be no action for the day. But soon, the inner dread that bubbled uncontrollably in Phil's subconscious surfaced as the quiet hum of someone yelling within resonated the bustle of the square. It got louder as the chatter briskly faded almost into silence.

Bewildered, the three boys peered back over the wall to view that the person yelling was, in fact, Mr Richard. As the boys' ears perked in order to listen closely to what exactly he was screaming about, they found that he was reprimanding someone for going against his toxic stereotypes.

And who else would that person be than Exile.

His jaw visibly clenching, PJ said under his breath, "This bastard cannot be serious,"

An aggravated huff escaped Chris' lips before he leaned over the side of the wall and yelled down, "Mr Richard, what are you doing?"

Most of the people on the ground looked up towards them at that moment, including both Mr Richard and Exile.

"This _fiend_ went against me, so I'm dealing with him!" Mr Richard stated dramatically.

"Sir, you've been told plenty of times before that if you have an issue, you have to tell a knight." Chris said, clearly trying to rid his voice of the annoyance that fizzed beneath his politeness, "You do not have a right to take matters into your own hands."

"I do! I'm a nobleman!"

Fed up, Phil rolled his eyes. He stepped forward and shouted down to the man, "Mr Richard, if you do this one more time, I _will_ report you to the king for unlawful conduct towards another citizen."

Though this statement made Mr Richard fall silent, he stared daggers at Phil, who simply glared back down at him. However, both of their icy stares were shattered when another voice resonated; _Exile's_ voice.

"No, my apologies," The man shouted up in a certain yet light tone, thoroughly surprising the three young knights. He then cast his gaze to Mr Richard, "especially to you, Sir. It was wrong for me to go against your high views, and I sincerely apologise for that."

"Why is he apologising?" PJ asked, his eyebrows furrowing, "What he did was _right_. All he's doing is inflating this prune's ego."

Chris merely shrugged, but Phil stayed still and silent, his attention fixed on the scene before them.

_This doesn't feel right._

Mr Richard appeared to narrow his eyes at the man before his expression relaxed and a triumphant smile perked his lips. "Good, I'm glad you've seen through to your mistake." A pause. "However, if you want to earn my respect, then I think you should give me one of those treats behind you."

Chris scoffed and let out a faint snort as, thoroughly dumbfounded, PJ said, "This man is truly unbelievable."

Obediently, Exile obliged and spun around to take up the plate of goods he'd brought with him. He willingly - and almost happily - offered the treats, and Mr Richard took one from the very top of the pile.

"Thank you," Mr Richard smiled, though it was most definitely forced, and he took a bite from the treat as he marched his way back towards the gate to the higher class.

At that, the boys stood back and collectively sighed.

"Honestly, how that man hasn't been arrested or beaten to death yet is beyond me," Chris mumbled, pushing himself from the wall.

"Chrissy, I'm surprised that _you_ haven't been arrested for beating him to death yet," PJ smirked, nudging him with his elbow.

"Well, I probably would've done if _you_ didn't keep holding me back," Chris snarled, playfully shoving PJ back as he went to walk to the other side of the wall. He gazed down at the upper class to try and catch sight of Mr Richard as he was heading home. PJ stayed to continue watching over the marketsquare.

Phil swiftly followed behind Chris. "As much as it is a horrible thing to say, I really do wish he'd just drop dead already." He said, a deflated tone in his voice.

"Don't worry, you're not the only one. The guy is _ancient._ Seriously, how does someone so awful live so long? Surely being an angry clot all the time isn't that good for you-"

"Guys," PJ suddenly spoke up, his tone shivering slightly and gaze fixated back over the other side of the wall, "I think there's something wrong."

"What is it?" Phil asked.

"Mr Richard," PJ said, "something's wrong with him."

"Yeah, we've known that for years, Peej," Chris shrugged, "Have you only just realised?"

"I'm being serious, Chris," PJ turned to look back at the two momentarily, a glare set in his expression, "He looks like he's... _dying_."

Not a second later, Phil and Chris darted back to PJ's side of the wall and peered over to view the conundrum beneath them.

Indeed, Mr Richard was now stumbling, appearing to be helplessly gasping for air while his partially eaten treat rested on the ground a foot or so away from him. A stunned crowd had gathered, and not a single person knew what to do except watch in alarm.

Then, Mr Richard collapsed. The sight of his motionless body sent a sudden wave of horror through the townspeople as their voices picked up from silence into a wild commotion in a matter of seconds. People took steps back and cowered away from the sight. Mothers and fathers whisked their children up into their arms and held them so they were facing away from the body. There were gasps of shock, but no cries or wails of loss or grief.

Phil cast his gaze towards the man known solely as Exile. He was looking right back up at the three of them - _staring_ , even. All Phil could see was his eyes; there wasn't even a single other detail that he could distinguish.

Yet, Exile's eyes alone made him look familiar, somehow. They glimmered in the sunlight in a peculiar way, something Phil swore he recognised from _somewhere_. But the shimmer was hiding a terrifying darkness, an intent for destruction, and that, he believed, was why he couldn't recognise them.

He couldn't link them with any of the possible hundreds of people he'd met in his past and that was the most infuriating feeling he'd felt in a long time.

This guy had just killed a man - granted, not a very nice one, but still - and Phil couldn't recognise him.

After a further moment, Exile nodded to them before finally averting his gaze away. Then, he turned around and fled through the crowd.

Phil couldn't believe it, and by the horrified expressions on PJ and Chris' faces, neither could they. That instant, the trio raced towards a staircase that spiralled down by the side of the portcullis, through the multiple-floored wall. They simultaneously burst through the door at the bottom into the higher class, rushed around through the open gate into the marketsquare and ran to Mr Richard's body.

PJ knelt down and placed two fingers on the nobleman's throat, searching for a pulse, only to turn back to look up at Phil and say, "He's dead."

Phil's stomach lurched. He looked towards Chris, who was peering over the townspeople's heads, presumably in search of the similarly tall Exile. After a moment, he shook his head, "The guy's long gone - god knows where he could be now."

It wasn't long before other knights arrived to assess the scene, and PJ, Chris and Phil all stepped back as they went about gathering Mr Richard's body to take to the castle.

Phil exhaled as guilt twisted his mind and clawed at his shoulders, placing a dead weight upon his form. "I know I meant what I said before, I can't lie about that, but I would never have wished for his death to be like this." He said ruefully in no more than a whisper.

"We know," PJ placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "This isn't your fault, Phil. You couldn't have known that this would happen."

"Still, I wanted it," Phil almost snapped at his friend, "but what I want to know is how the hell Exile knew that."

~

When Phil, PJ and Chris took the news of Mr Richard's death to King James, they found him and Queen Rosa conversing in the royal's private dining room. The moment they made the king aware of the circumstances, an immediate closing of all outskirt kingdom gates and a search of the kingdom was ordered, and every knight was to get involved - apart from Phil.

While PJ and Chris were briskly sent away to assist in searching for the culprit, Phil was ordered to stay behind to give the royals his witness statement. So, Phil informed the king of every last detail he could remember, and once he had, King James' fury was unfathomable.

He spat and growled about the man, barking to both Phil and Queen Rosalind that he _knew_ he shouldn't have been trusted when they didn't have a single clue as to who the hell he was.

"I should've listened to your father," King James had grumbled in Phil's direction, "He was the one who suggested we look into who this man was, but I merely shrugged it off."

"My Lord, there was not a single sign that would suggest this man would've been a potential danger," Queen Rosa told him, "You couldn't possibly have known this would happen."

"Well, I should've at least looked into it," The king said with a grunt, "Now, one of my nobles is dead, and his killer is hiding somewhere in my kingdom. God knows who he could go for next. It could even be us."

"Which is why we'll make sure he's caught before he can do any more harm," Phil said flatly. He adorned a determined look on his face, but it was a dark look; one you'd see upon a warrior's face before a battle, ready for bloodshed.

The king appeared to smirk, not in a mocking manner, but almost a proud one. "And when we do, we'll make sure that he _never_ sees the light of day ever again."

King James was a firm, driven man, Phil couldn't deny that, but that certainly didn't make him a strong one. It was nothing but a mask - an illusion he used so the kingdom kept their faith (well, what was left of it) in him as king. He covered the truth with a spiteful bearing.

Of course, Phil could see through all of that brazen hatred like he would a well-polished window - he could see, more than anything, that James was absolutely terrified. He clearly had something on his mind that struck fear into him like a cold blade, and Phil had a feeling it had something to do with this Exile guy and whoever that 'him' was he'd heard him and his father mention.

He was pretty sure that this 'him' character was Daniel; it had to be. But Daniel and Exile could not be the same person. It would be awful of Phil to believe or merely think that - _betrayal_ , even. Dan wouldn't kill someone - if he was even alive himself to begin with. He'd never do that.

_But he would give a boy flowers._

~

By the time the sunset fell over the horizon, PJ and Chris returned to the castle. They told the royals that every knight had searched every inch of the kingdom, but Exile was nowhere to be found.

The plate of treats that Exile had brought into the marketsquare had also been brought up to the castle a few hours beforehand, given he'd left the plate in the market when he'd fled the scene. After being analysed, it was found that they were laced with four different types of poisonous plants, all of which fused to make the quickest, most cruel and painful death by poisoning a human could endure.

After this, the news of Exile's disappearance obviously enraged King James more, to the point where the three boys believed he would implode, so they could only thank their lucky stars that they were briskly sent away back to their homes.

As the boys left the castle, them now seeing the higher class shadowed due to the buildings blocking the rays of the setting sun, an inevitable conversation about Exile was struck up.

"You know what, I'm actually not that surprised that the guy killed Mr Richard," Chris said, "I mean, someone was bound to kill him at some point. He was a right prat."

"It was just the way it was done that was quite... _baffling_. I thought he would've taken a sword straight through the gut," PJ scoffed amusedly, "I'd never even thought about poison, though. That was rather clever on Exile's part."

"There was also how seamless the entire situation was to begin with," Phil chimed in, "Exile seemed so kind, especially after what he did for that boy, and then when he apologised to Mr Richard, even though he wasn't in the wrong."

"I mean, I did say that he probably wasn't as sweet as he appeared to be," PJ shrugged, "but, even then, I'm quite sure what he did for the boy was genuine. Apologising to Mr Richard must have been a ruse to keep up his innocent appearance so he could get the bastard to shut up and take a liking to him before he killed him."

"How did he even know Mr Richard would demand to have one of his treats anyway?" Chris questioned, astounded at the idea.

"I mean, it's Mr Richard, Chrissy. He's not exactly the most unpredictable man in the kingdom."

"True,"

There was silence for a moment as they continued down the avenue, which wasn't necessarily bustling with people apart from the odd knight or two.

"That wasn't even the oddest part to me," Phil said.

PJ lifted an eyebrow, "Okay, what was?"

"Exile staring up at us after he'd killed him. It was like he was daring us to do something about it or something."

Chris appeared to furrow his eyebrows, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Exile stared up at us before he fled," Phil said, perplexed at the fact that Chris could forget such a stand-out detail, "Do you two not think that was strange?"

PJ and Chris exchanged a puzzled look.

"He wasn't looking at all three of us," PJ said, glaring at Phil as though he'd lost his head.

Phil just stared at them blankly, and it was at that moment that the trio stopped dead in their tracks in the middle of the main avenue.

PJ looked to Chris again, "Phil, we only saw him stare up at us for a second before we had moved away from you to call for guards who were nearby along the wall. Exile wasn't staring at all three of us, there's no possible way he could've. He was staring at _you_."

"Maybe he did hear you wish Mr Richard dead," Chris suggested, "It's either that or, to be more realistic, he knows you. And I think there could only be one person who comes to mind for all of us if that were to be the case."

_Daniel._


	9. Reign; Retribution

Through the darkness of the lower class of the kingdom, there wandered a man. He was no stranger to the dim alleyways he roamed through; walking at a steady pace, unfazed by the risk of being caught, and shadowed from any forms of light by the buildings he strolled between.

Hidden in plain sight.

Or, for tonight, so he thought.

There was first the creak of a door opening. Quiet footsteps followed swiftly after. And then, there came a voice.

"Hey!" It whispered - _she_ whispered. The man stopped dead in his tracks. "What happened with that noble in the marketsquare...you poisoned him, didn't you, Exile."

The man, _Exile_ , turned briefly and peered over his shoulder. The look in his eyes was blank, but still, the woman could see the visible creases above his cheekbones that indicated a grin. Even with the bottom half of his face concealed, she could read him like a children's picture book. After all, it was an expression she'd seen him wear far too often.

The woman glared back at him, but simultaneously, a smirk perked her lips. "As impressed and grateful as I am, I must reprimand you for your idiocy. You're wanted dead for what you did - for what you could do next. You can't just aimlessly wander around the kingdom anymore. You _need_ to be more careful, Daniel."

Exile remained motionless, but the loss of the creases above his cheekbones suggested his grin had softened into that of a small smile. It wasn't often he got to hear his real name, especially not in Philautia.

Exile was an alias that the townspeople had given him, and he'd been called it ever since he'd started frequently sneaking into the lower city some years ago. He adorned the name with pride, despite its meaning. It was spoken in hushed voices only ever inside the safe walls of one's home in order to keep his existence in the kingdom a secret from the higher class, and especially the royals.

"I know, Catherine," Daniel said, his low-toned voice slightly muffled by the fabric covering his mouth and nose. "I've thought this through to the very end. I know what I've gotten myself into."

Catherine glared at him for a moment longer, though it appeared to be an indecisive glare - one that questioned him. However, it faded within a moment. She walked the few steps between them and stopped when he was within arm's reach before grabbing him by his wrist and leading him back towards the door she came from.

"Come on, before guards find us speaking with one another." She said with a murmur, hauling him through the door before closing it behind her.

At that very moment, her collected demeanour unravelled, and as she wandered across the open living space, she began to maunder, "Killing a noble. Of all people! Are you out of your mind?"

"He deserved it," Daniel merely excused, stripping himself of his black cloak and pulling the material down from his face so it settled loosely around his neck.

Catherine mindlessly threw a log into the blazing fireplace. "Whether he deserved it or not isn't the matter, I know bloody well that bastard deserved it." She began folding blankets that had been strewn across the seats of the dining table, flattening them out into a neat pile. "What matters is the fact that you murdered a _noble,_ Dan, and a rather important one too!"

Dan scoffed, "Please, the only thing that pretentious prick was important for was being the perfect guinea pig for a strong poison I needed to test." He joked, immense amusement in his tone, "And anyway, it's not really my fault. He demanded he had one. If I hadn't given him one, things would've only escalated."

Catherine just rolled her eyes. "That doesn't give you an excuse to kill the man! And it wasn't like he knew it was poisoned."

"Well, no, but it certainly does give me the satisfaction that he can't hurt anyone anymore, and that those he has hurt can now live in peace - _and_ the privilege of seeing that expression on his face." He said with a devilish grin, almost appearing like a giddy child, "Did you see it, Cat? It was brilliant!"

Cat gave him a look, "I hope you don't plan on making murder a repeating offence."

"Of course not, but some people deserve to die. It's just fact." Dan said, his smile faltering as he paused to think. He couldn't fight it back, however, as an additional statement slipped into his mind - one that he knew wouldn't exactly settle well with Cat, "And anyway, repetition can become tedious. I wouldn't continue to do something if it bored me."

"Daniel!"

Dan chuckled, putting his hands up in mock surrender. Cat was the first person he'd met when he began sneaking back into the kingdom. She became almost like an older sister to him within weeks of them knowing one another, always being the one to scold him if he ever did something stupid that could end up in him getting hurt or found out about.

"I am kidding, Miss Valdez," Dan stated calmly, "What I did today was a one-time thing, but..." Dan's shoulders deflated then, as did his expression, repentant; ashamed of his own immorality. "I'm afraid it won't be the last time I hurt someone."

Cat furrowed her brows at him, pitiful.

"I digress," He shrugged, casting away his dejection, "I have no doubt that I'll be hunted like a wild animal by James and his men from now on, so I will promise you that whatever injury may come to his knights, it will be in self-defence and with complete avoidance of death."

"Good." Cat nodded.

"As for James himself, I can't promise that there will be no intent."

Cat gave him a cold glare, and he smirked, but then, she shifted the subject. "Speaking of which, King James ordered a thorough search of the kingdom for you."

"I know,"

"You're very lucky you weren't found. If you were, the man would not have hesitated to have you executed."

"I know,"

"Which is why you have to be-"

"Careful," Dan finished for her, "I know, Cat. I will be. You don't have to worry."

Cat pursed her lips then and turned away, but she appeared to have something on her mind that urged her to speak again so the silence between them was brief.

She turned back to face him, bearing the question, "Why are you making yourself known now?"

Admittedly, Dan was a little taken aback by the abrupt question but answered anyway. "I just figured it would be the best time to do it if anything, given the fact that it's almost been a decade since my banishment."

Cat nodded but didn't hesitate as she prodded further into his mind with yet another query. This one, however, was quite clearly not of a matter that burned troublesomely at her thoughts, but instead flared with curiosity, so much so that a smile perked her lips.

"So what do you plan to do next then?" She asked, her calm intrigue sparking an eager feeling in Dan that made the plans he had for the future bubble in his mind like a pot that was boiling over upon a hot stove.

Still, he knew he'd have to tread lightly, given the fact that his next plan proved to be far more dangerous than the last.

"My next venture will be into the castle itself. I want to torment James directly."

The smirk stayed plastered on the young woman's lips as she raised an eyebrow. "And when will you be going through with this?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?" Cat echoed in sudden disbelief, her expression instantly twisting into that of dismay, "But that's far too soon. The king and his men will be on high alert after what you did."

Dan shook his head. "Not exactly. His knights were unable to find me. Indeed, he may worry about my whereabouts, but I'm certain he wouldn't believe I'd try to attack him after such little time. To him, it would be too soon. He won't lose any sleep on the matter, I bet, fortunately for me. It's the perfect double-cross."

Catherine simply eyed him, indecisive and certainly fearful of his decision.

"Don't worry, it'll be alright," Daniel said, his tone gentle and amiable. He stepped towards her and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

At that, Cat smiled, but it still faltered with worry. It wasn't the doubtful kind of worry; Dan knew that she had all of the faith in the world in him. But that didn't mean she couldn't help but fear for him at the prospect of him risking his life to sneak into a heavily guarded castle just to torment the king for a few small minutes.

Dan wandered back to the coat stand then, where he cloaked and masked himself once again, becoming the very figure that shook the higher class of the kingdom to its core.

And it was there that he proclaimed, "I'll make sure not to prolong my visit, but I'll stay long enough to make sure that the prominent thought in that tyrant's treacherous mind, from this day forward, is that the Exile has returned and he's back for blood."

**~**

That night, the royals were awoken suddenly by the echoes of a dog barking through their castle's halls. As the great king cast his gaze about his lavish chambers, he sat up and pulled his legs over the side of his bed. The queen sat up also, shuffling as close to her husband as possible. Queen Rosalind's hand clung to King James' bicep as they stood and studied the barking for a moment; it got louder and then quieter, closer then further, and then it stopped.

There was silence.

King James squeezed his queen's hand reassuringly before she let go and he took a single step into the darkness, his sight only able to see the mere outlines of his chambers' furniture. After a moment, he swore he heard something manoeuvre in the room. He turned towards the noise, but there was nothing.

Then, something dark slithered past him in the corner of his vision; a shadow masked by the obscurity. He turned towards that. Nothing.

Then there came a creak elsewhere in the room.

And then, an amused chuckle.

The royals darted their gazes towards the chamber doors, where one now stood ajar. In the gap, a tall figure lingered, completely featureless and with a familiar object held in its grip. The queen gasped quietly.

It was the king's crown.

The shadow fled from the doorway, and James instantly reached for the scabbard stood against his bedside table. He unsheathed a daunting, sharp sword as he darted across the room in pursuit and barged out of his chambers, his blood boiling.

The king bounded through a maze of corridors before eventually coming to the walkway that offered a gracious view of the divine throne room from the second floor. As James momentarily glanced down upon the room, he was just able to make out the form of a large dog calmly wandering its way towards his throne. He could've sworn the creature, though clearly not paying any attention towards him, was somehow watching him keenly as it pondered upon the strip of velvet carpet that strung from the elegant doors to the throne itself.

Remembering the criminal that was roaming through his castle, he turned his attention back in the direction the shadow had been running and James watched as it disappeared into the main tower.

Furiously, the king continued to pursue the shadow, halting once again in the doorway into the tower. He observed in the darkness that the person was nowhere in sight, but the taps of their fleeing feet hinted at where he'd gone. James followed eagerly.

He came to a stop once again when he stood upon the throne room's stairwell balcony, where two flights of stairs split off and curved elegantly inward to the floor of the throne room. King James froze in his place.

The mysterious figure, clad in a dark cloak, strode down the plush lavender carpet that led him towards the throne, now with a torch he'd seemingly pulled from nowhere held in one hand, it casting a blazing glow about the room, and King James' crown gripped in the other.

As loathed as he was to admit it, it was truly a breath-taking thing to see. It was almost _powerful_. The absurd nerve of the shadow's actions was astoundingly impressive in the most unusual way.

King James had suddenly found himself in the middle of the room, his breathing heavy and shallow from taking on the stairs in what seemed to be as quick as a heartbeat, and his sword still drawn, settled in his grasp by his side. As his bare feet sunk into the lavender carpet, he was unable to rip his gaze away from the scene that was unfolding before him.

The shadow had roamed the few steps up to the throne and had stopped before it, his dog now sitting coyly by his side.

"Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you manage to bypass my guards?" King James asked.

The man ignored him, but turned a little to stand at an angle so James could just about see what he was doing, but not so much so that his back was no longer facing the king. He held the crown up towards the light of the torch and turned his nose up as the purple jewels glimmered in response.

His actions were fluid, like he'd been bewitched and was in no way control of his own body.

James furrowed his eyebrows but further stiffened his grip on his sword. "You go by _Exile,_ don't you? Tell me, where did you get that name?"

Again, the man ignored him, pocketing the crown into his cloak.

"Answer me, you bastard!"

At the rise of James' voice, the man's dog bared a set of vicious teeth and growled, but it stopped the instant its owner nonchalantly waved his newly free hand.

King James glared daggers at the back of the man's head. He longed to rush up behind him and run his sword straight through him, but there would be no satisfaction in that. He wanted to see his face first; he wanted to see the life drain from his eyes as he killed him.

"Show yourself, coward."

The man went to look over his shoulder, and James could just vaguely see the outline of his nose and lips that were poised up into a smirk as they were facing away from the light.

"Me? _Coward_?" The man questioned, his tone calm, but brazen and almost challenging. He reached his hand up to pinch the fabric of his hood, "I wouldn't have come back if I was a coward, and I think you know well enough where my name may have come from, Your Highness."

The man turned to fully face the king as he threw back the hood. His face was uncovered, mask hanging around his neck, and his face was glowing from the fire of the torch he continued to hold up.

James' stomach lurched and his angered expression faltered into that of shock. It was the boy; he couldn't care to remember his name, what would've been the point when he believed that night to be the last he'd ever see of him? He was so different, in almost every aspect, but there was something there that was so recognisable. It had loomed there when James had first set eyes on the boy, but now, as a _man_ , it was more prominent than ever.

"You..." Was all he could muster, until his shock turned back into a fury that blazed higher than any fire could reach. He grit his teeth.

It was only when his hand started burning that he realised his fist was clenching the handle of his sword, and it was shaking. Adrenaline had rushed to his legs and, with rage pulsating through his blood, he lunged forwards towards the boy, drawing his sword high above his head.

He expected an expression of fear, but all he received was a devious grin.

Thrown a little off guard, James reached the bottom step, only to see a ball of fire soar towards him. H was too confused and dazed to scream as he jumped and stumbled backwards. He fell to the floor, his sword escaping his grasp and clattering to the floor far from him in the process.

The ball of fire hit the carpet before him and it instantly set alight.

He exhaled sharply, his stare trained on the flickering flames.

Exile had thrown the torch at him, and now, as James cast his gaze up towards his throne, he realised that he had disappeared.

He could hear scampering; claws scraping stone before padding on soft carpet. Before James could fully get his bearings, through the flames charged the dog, straight for him. The king let out a mighty scream, pulling his arms up to shield his face.

There came no attack.

Breathing heavily and rapidly, James unshielded himself, but flinched at the sound of a clank that boomed through the desolate castle's rooms and halls. He turned to look behind him, and he observed the dog wandering through the grand doors between the stairwells into the main tower to join a dark, cloaked figure.

James' crown lay on the floor in the doorway.

"I'll never forgive you for what you did, James," The figure said, a bitter tone in his voice, "You hurt Phil that night, and knowing that hurt me more than you or your men ever could. You're a corrupt and wicked man. I will never let you rest. Not even in death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit thanks for over 200 hits! I've been really struggling with personal issues lately but seeing people read my story and enjoying it and leaving lovely comments is so amazing to see! Thank you so much to all of you, it means the world to me <3


	10. Reign; The Lone, Devious Vermin

Mere moments after Exile had left and King James had come to terms with what had happened, he absolutely lost his shit.

He'd yelled for his wife and daughter, who promptly rushed to his aid and took him from the room, and he'd bellowed for the servants to awaken and make haste with putting out the fire that was slowly raging on.

Once the stress had rushed from his system, he was near to collapsing where he was, and so he was sent to bed while his wife and daughter set out to investigate with the servants.

The next morning, when King James took to his throne as he always did, he was informed that all of the knights who were on guard within and around the castle had been knocked out, and their best judgment as to how Exile had done it was that he'd put something in their supper or their drinks. No one knew how, or why, or when. It was simply the most fitting conclusion.

With that in mind, in the afternoon, James sent out an order for a meeting in the royal dining room. He wanted his advisors and closest confidants to be in attendance, including Phil and his father.

"I want more guards to patrol the castle at night," King James said as he sat at the head of the table, "I want the best and most alert fighters. I _know_ he will return, and I will _not_ have that _rat_ escape again."

One of his advisors nodded. "Of course, Sire."

"Everyone who excelled in training will be put to the task, except for you, Philip." James went on, looking directly at him, "This man is far more cunning and destructive than any of us could've foreseen. I refuse to put my future successor in any form of danger unless absolutely necessary, and I especially refuse to do so because of a lone, devious vermin."

Phil, who was sat in one of the seats next to the king's, tried his best not to look surprised, merely nodding.

"I do, however, want you to do more lookouts over the market square in the daytime just in case he returns then. I will have others posted nearby and with you, and they will deal with him."

Phil nodded again. "Of course, Sire."

"Do you know Exile's identity, your highness?" Another advisor asked, "Did you see what he looked like?"

King James looked to the advisor and paused for a moment, appearing in thought, before he said, "I'm afraid I do not. He revealed himself to me, but I did not recognise him."

"If you don't mind me asking, Sire," Phil's father chimed in, sitting in the seat opposite Phil on the other side of James. He seemed wary, and Phil could swear his father had eyed him for a second before he continued, "do you think that there is a possibility that it was the boy from all those years ago? The one who was chased and banished from the kingdom. I believe his name was Daniel."

Phil held his breath and went rigid, his teeth clenching together. _How dare you believe it possible for him to be Exile. How dare you believe you can say his name. How fucking dare you._ He internally cursed his father, stone-faced, casting a glare towards him. Phil's father took a brief glance at his son, wary of the hatred in his eyes. After a moment, however, Phil looked down at the table.

"I don't know," James answered simply.

There was a lot more to the meeting, but Phil couldn't remember the rest after that. All he could think of was Dan.

Part of him was relieved that Exile not being Dan meant that he hadn't grown up to be this deceitful criminal that was tormenting the royals, but the rest of him was aching because that also meant that Dan could well and truly be gone.

He only listened back into the meeting when King James dismissed everyone but Phil's father, so Phil left alone after exchanging formal goodbyes with the other men. He met with PJ and Chris, as they'd planned, at the bottom of the castle entrance's steps. As the trio went to walk down the avenue towards the Lester manor, Chris slinked himself between Phil and PJ and put his arms around both of their shoulders.

"So, Philly, what was that all about?" He asked.

"The Exile snuck into the castle last night and attacked the king, _and_ got away with it." Phil told, "King James is alright, mostly unharmed-"

"Well, that's unfortunate," Chris interrupted. PJ tutted at him.

Phil ignored him and went on, "Can't say the same about the carpet in the throne room, though. The guy apparently threw a torch at him, but it landed on the floor and set fire to it."

Chris snorted, earning an elbow to the gut from PJ. He winced but smirked.

" _Anyway_ ," Phil drawled and exaggerated his tone in the hopes it would stop him from being interjected again, "The guy escaped, so King James wants more guards on duty at night in the castle in case he returns, which means that you two will probably be working more nights."

"For fuck's sake.." Chris whined.

PJ shot him a look before turning back to ask, "What about you?"

"I've been given immunity." Phil told, a smug grin playing on his lips, "He doesn't want his _s_ _uccessor_ to get into anydanger unless it's _a_ _bsolutely necessary._ "

Chris shook his head in a jokingly disapproving manner. "You bastard."

Phil chuckled. "Hey, it's not like I asked for all of this."

"Yeah, but-"

"Chris, shut up." PJ scolded him, and he pouted. "So, is that all you were told?"

Phil shook his head, "No. According to King James, the guy also revealed his identity. He...didn't recognise him."

Phil attempted to hide the solemn in his expression, but PJ was able to see straight through him. "You were somewhat hoping Exile was Daniel, weren't you."

Phil merely looked to PJ and the corner of his lip lifted into a small, sad smile, but before he could say anything, Chris butt in once again as the boys stopped in front of Phil's manor.

"Um, Phil, I thought you said your house was going to be empty for the day."

Phil gave him an odd look. "Yeah, it is. My mother should still be with Queen Rosalind back in the castle and Scarlett and Ezra shouldn't have returned from the marketsquare yet. Why?"

Chris was silent as he stared into the window on the second floor of the manor. Squinting, he nodded towards something inside. Both Phil and PJ looked towards his source of puzzlement in unison to see a cloaked figure. It appeared to be looking around the room from where it stood at the top of the staircase.

They all knew exactly who it was.

_Exile._

The instant it dawned in Phil's mind, he shoved Chris' arm from his shoulder and rushed for the front door.

"Wait, Phil, are you crazy?" PJ yelled after him, but Phil had already barged through the door and was sprinting up the stairs to the second floor.

The cloaked figure only bolted when Phil had almost reached the top of the steps; the point that Phil decided to draw his greatsword from the scabbard that hung down from his belt.

Phil swerved around the bannister at the top and, with a split-second decision, stabbed down at the end of Exile's cloak. He successfully pierced the fabric, and the sheer force lodged the tip of his sword into the wooden floor.

Exile stumbled back a little, but it didn't restrict his movement for long as he simply lifted his hand and unbuttoned his cloak. It drifted from his shoulders to the floor and he scurried away through the closest doors to him.

Into Phil's bedroom.

The floor made a small crackling sound as Phil hoisted his sword from it and continued to pursue him.

Once inside his room, Phil slammed the doors shut and locked them. He knew it was probably a stupid move, but that thought was quick to leave his mind. He turned back to Exile, who stood almost expectantly in the middle of the room, and, bringing his sword over his head, Phil charged at him.

He viewed a flash of silver and gold before, all of a sudden, his sword clashed with another. Phil had failed to notice the blade that had been hanging by the side of Exile's leg, which was now being used to block his attack.

Exile was quick to use the weapon to push Phil back before he proceeded to rush across the room towards the bookshelves in the corner. Phil ran at the man again, supplying a second attack, but he was served yet another block. He was shoved back and Exile fled to another part of the room once more.

This bizarre dance continued for a few moments, with Phil being the only one to attempt attacks and with Exile delivering perfect blocks with each whistling blow that came his way.

As the altercation continued about the room, Phil wondered why Exile wasn't attacking back. He'd shown no mercy to Mr Richards when he'd poisoned him to death, and he was sure he hadn't batt an eyelid towards almost setting King James alight, so why wasn't he fighting back against Phil?

There was no obvious reason to not do so. Phil was relentlessly persistent, swinging his sharp blade in every possible direction, at every angle and at all parts of his body to try and strike him.

And all Exile did was block him. No swinging sword came his way in return, nor did any part of Phil's body meet a sneaky elbow, or a knee, or a fist.

Phil had never seen a tactic like this. He'd seen other knights _prioritise_ blocking over attacking, but never had he seen anyone solely try to protect themselves and nothing else.

Exile hadn't harmed him one bit. It didn't even seem like he wanted to hurt Phil in the first place.

Phil had lost focus. He'd let his mind wander from the fight, and he knew it. He'd broken the biggest rule of sword fighting: don't get distracted by _anything._

But the moment Phil managed to shut his thoughts up, it was too late.

He had swung his sword over his head, and yet again, it had been blocked. As Phil pushed his sword against Exile's, the man tilted his weapon, causing Phil's to slip down. Exile moved out of his way as he stumbled forward, but before Phil could regain his balance, Exile hooked his foot around his ankle and tripped him up. With a firm shoulder to the chest, he shoved Phil to the ground, where he fell back into his desk so hard, it made the room shake.

A small hiss managed to escape Phil's lips as he briskly shuffled up, only to have his gaze meet with the tip of a keen sword that was pointing towards his chest. He looked up at Exile.

There was something odd about him. Phil knew Exile couldn't have resided in the higher class but, though his clothing was the same browns, greys and blacks he'd see in the lower class, the fashion looked high-end; like something a nobleman would wear, just maybe not so monochrome in colour.

Phil viewed plain, black pants, tucked into and bagging slightly over the top of well-polished, shining boots, which came to just underneath his calf muscle. Atop a simple grey tunic, Exile boasted a dark leather jerkin that was laced down the front. A small flash of blue peeked out from under one of the tunic's sleeves but, thinking it was some sort of fancy handkerchief, Phil paid it no more attention than everything else.

Exile's face was partially covered by the material he had tied around his head. The loss of his cloak hood had revealed charming dark brown hair that was short and curly. Phil could even see that both of his ears were pierced, and it looked as though he was using two forged iron nails for earrings.

For a moment, Phil was distracted by a dark mark above his right eyebrow. It looked like a scar, or maybe it was merely a shadow. Either way, Phil didn't care for it much.

Exile was staring down at him. He cast his gaze to that stare and glared back. Phil couldn't decipher the emotion behind his eyes, which he found quite chilling, but he could see that look in them again; the glint he'd seen before Exile had murdered Mr Richard.

It was a knowing glint, Phil now realised. And somehow, he thought to believe that he knew that glint.

_A boy stood before him. A young boy, seemingly a few years younger than himself. Phil gawked at him in utter disbelief, watching the boy's hands grow pallor as his own sword shook in his grip. Both fury and fear blazed in his brown irises._

The memory faded as soon as it came, and it left Phil breathless, stunned and aching - both inside and out.

There came multiple muffled voices from outside of the bedroom window then. They got closer and closer until Phil could hear the stomping of heavy boots traversing the lower floor of the manor, then up the stairs, and then outside his door.

Exile was the one to break the eye contact between the two of them. He looked back over his shoulder towards the locked doors as hefty pounds resonated from behind the dark wood.

Phil couldn't tell if it had made Exile jump or if he was expecting it but looked to the noise in such a sudden manner anyway. Exile had appeared to almost hyper-focus onto him - like all other sound and movement had blurred out and ultimately meant nothing, so it would've made sense if the noise had startled him.

The pounding of fists kept coming, and while Exile's attention was elsewhere but him, Phil shifted his gaze down to the area of floor by his side that his sword lay on. It had slipped from his hand as he fell, and was now laying but a small stretch away from his hand.

As Exile glared at the door a moment longer, Phil shimmied down, working around the pointed tip of Exile's sword until his weapon was in his grasp. He gripped the hilt and slashed the blade through the air. It caught Exile's hand, causing a small gash to form on the back of it, and he flinched back, moving the sword away as he did.

Phil pushed himself forward from his desk, bolted to his feet, snaked his arm across Exile's chest and, using all of his strength, shoved him. Exile flew backwards into one of the shutters of the open window with a loud clash.

"Sir Philip, are you alright?" One of the knights questioned from behind the doors, but neither Phil nor Exile paid the voice any attention.

Exile had managed to stay on his feet and was brisk to straighten himself up as Phil stepped forward to put his sword against his neck. Just as he did so, Exile lifted his own sword up, hilt pointing up to the ceiling, as if trying to show Phil something.

A gold pommel with a purple jewel. A lavender hilt that had paled in colour. A black leather grip. A worn, curling gold cross-guard. Phil's name.

Phil read his _own name_ , engraved into the cross-guard of Exile's sword.

He froze up and his heart dropped into his stomach, sending a shockwave through his limbs.

It was his sword. Identical to the one he held in his own grip. It was his _first_ sword; the one that Daniel had fled with all those years ago. It _had_ to be. The two swords were the only ones of their kind. No more had ever been made.

Phil's disbelieved stare cast to Exile's eyes again. He was breathless and visibly shocked, no doubt from the briskness and force of Phil's shove, but even so, the glint was still there. It seemed to be shimmering now more than ever.

At that moment, as a fit of demanding anger began to bubble in his chest, Phil pushed himself back, extended his arm towards Exile and pointed his sword at his chest. He could see the tip digging lightly into the fabric of his tunic.

"Throw the sword away from you and show me your face."

To Phil's surprise, Exile obliged. He threw the sword from his grasp, it landing onto the wooden floor with a loud rattle and clattering partially under Phil's bed. He then lifted that same hand towards his face, where he gripped the fabric of the mask and pulled it down around his neck, unveiling himself.

Phil gaped.

It was Daniel.

The mark above his right eyebrow. Indeed, it was a scar, no doubt the scar that came from that moment he'd been slashed with the very sword he'd fled with. The flash of blue hidden beneath his sleeve. It wasn't a handkerchief. It was the ribbon, tied around his wrist; the exact same one Phil had used to tie up his wet hair. That knowing glint in those brown irises. It was Dan's. It had always been Dan's. Amongst everything about the boy that had changed, it hadn't. It had _never_ changed.

"It _was_ you."

There came a few small cracks and then, all of a sudden, a huge crash shook the manor. The piece of wood locking the doors to Phil's bedroom snapped in two and they violently swung open.

Phil had turned his head to look back for a mere second to see the knights bound into the room. When he looked back to Dan, he saw that he'd manoeuvred to stand in front of the window. With a small glance back to him, Dan leapt over the guard onto the small roof above the manor's front door. As Phil ran forward to look out of the window, the knights collecting behind him, he watched Dan leap to the ground, crouching at the landing to avoid injuring his legs.

He bounded across the avenue, bypassing PJ and Chris, who stared with wide eyes as he rushed past them. Dan lifted his mask back over his mouth and nose before he disappeared into the darkness between two manors at the other side of the avenue.

PJ and Chris looked to one another, baffled, and then looked up to Phil. The knights had already fled from behind him, so he stood alone at the window, still attempting to digest everything that had just happened.

Phil watched the knights spill out of his home, and it was only at that moment that he pushed himself from the window and ran out of his room. He sprinted down the stairs and turned into the foyer, only to be greeted by PJ and Chris grabbing a hold of him before he could even reach the front door.

"No, let me go!" He yelled, but PJ and Chris only pulled him further away from the door, "Please!"

"I'm sorry, Phil, but we can't let you." PJ said, his tone calming despite the strain in his voice from having to push him back, "You know that."

_Phil stood at the doors of the castle, looking down the avenue, with the people he was closest to holding him back. He screamed at the top of his lungs as he watched the light in the universe fade into darkness; he watched Dan run for his life. Away from Phil._

_There were calming voices. Pleading voices. Hushing voices._

With a small cry of defeat, Phil finally stopped resisting and let them drag him into the dining room.

He felt helpless. He felt confused and dismayed and heartbroken.

But there was that flame again. The one that burned, deep down. The same one he'd felt all of those years ago.


	11. Reign; A Betrayal & A Bargain

Phil felt cold, even though he'd been held by Chris as PJ stroked a warm hand down his back over and over ever since they'd sat him down at the dining table. Even though Scarlett and Ezra, who returned not long after that, covered him in blankets for comfort and put hot food in front of him. Even though, after hearing of what had happened, Louise had come over and assisted PJ and Chris in bringing Phil out of his impassive state.

After all of that, he still felt cold.

That evening, Phil's mother and father arrived back from the castle.

"A few knights had informed us briefly of what had happened while we were gone," Mrs Lester told, holding her son's hand in both of hers as she sat in a chair by his side, "We left the castle as soon as we could. Are you alright, my love? Were you hurt?"

Phil simply shook his head, deadpan, staring at the swirls in the wood of the dining table.

Standing behind his wife's chair, Mr Lester looked up and circulated his gaze around his servants and Phil's friends, "What is wrong with him? Why won't he speak?" He asked urgently.

PJ and Chris exchanged a glance, before Chris explained, "After Phil left that meeting this morning, PJ and I walked back here with him. When we got to the front of the manor, we spotted Exile inside, standing at the window at the top of the stairs. Phil raced in and got into a fight with him while we went to get others. They told us to stay outside, so we don't know what happened from there. He's been like this all day, hasn't spoken a word since. All we know is that-"

"Daniel is Exile," Phil finally said, cutting Chris off, his voice but a mere, hoarse whisper.

"What was that, honey?" Mrs Lester asked gently.

"Daniel is Exile," Phil repeated, louder and slower this time, his gaze shifting to cast between his parents, "He's alive and now he's back."

A silence swept through the manor; a stunned silence. Phil couldn't tell whether it was that he'd finally spoken after hours, or if it was what he'd said that caused it. It was probably both.

Dan _isn't_ dead _._ He lived, somehow. Magically. _Miraculously_.

He lived to become Exile; a man who gave a dismayed little boy flowers, murdered an old nobleman and managed to sneak into the castle to terrorise the king. He became a criminal - a cold, formidable, spiteful villain.

But _fucking hell_ , Phil had to admit, he'd lived to become one gorgeous human being, handsomely sculpted into a far more robust and beautiful character than how Phil could've ever imagined him. He especially would've never thought that Dan would grow taller than him - considering there was over half a foot's difference between them when they were children - and though there was no great difference between them now, there was a difference all the same; one that plunged Phil even deeper down a hole that he wasn't even permitted to approach in the first place.

Phil had so many questions. He wanted to know what, how, and why; he wanted to know where Dan had been all of this time, how he managed to live and why he returned.

But he couldn't.

"Phil," His mother began, soft-spoken, "you should know that the knights caught Exile."

"He was taken straight to the dungeons, so we never saw him. The knights came into the throne room after locking him up to tell King James of his capture." His father told, a flicker of pity in his expression, "Exile will be sentenced in the morning, and the likelihood of that sentence being one of death is great."

Phil would've thought his heart had dived straight into the depths of his stomach had it not been pounding in his ears. He looked away from his parents, expression heavy with dread.

But then, there was that flame again.

Phil cast his gaze back up between his parents, a determined look in his eye that was fuelled by wrath, "I demand to see King James."

~

He'd been allowed to see the king, escorted to the castle by PJ, Chris and Louise, and the moment his friends turned to leave, he stormed straight into the throne room.

"Why did you lie?" Phil asked, rage pulsating through him.

King James appeared stunned at his sudden entrance, his gaze darting from the knights he had been speaking with. He shooed them away briskly.

"What is this accusation about, Philip?" He questioned once the knights had gone.

"You said Daniel wasn't Exile. Why did you lie?"

King James put on an innocent look, "Philip, please calm yourself. As I said earlier during the meeting, I did not recognise Exile when he awoke me from my slumber to terrorise me in my own castle. I was unaware that it was this Daniel you speak of." He told, his tone calm, though Phil sensed a bitter undertone somewhere. "You know I would never lie to you."

Phil took a deep breath, his outrage dissipating and turning into desperation. "I want to see him."

King James leant forward in his seat, "I am deeply sorry, Philip, but I cannot let you do that. He is too dangerous, too manipulative."

"He is not-"

"He killed a nobleman," King James snapped, "right after performing an act used to earn his trust. If that doesn't make him dangerous or manipulative, I don't know what does."

Phil looked away from the king, breath heavy with aggravation, but upon hearing his voice again, he looked back up.

"My knights told me of your battle with Exile. Return home and rest. I think you most definitely need it after today."

Phil exhaled, his anger dissipating into a shuddering breath, replaced with a stinging dejection. He turned and walked out of the throne room, his body feeling much heavier than it had when he'd entered. He closed the large throne room doors behind him, the sound penetrating the silence of the main tower.

He wanted to see Dan. He didn't care what King James thought about it or what the repercussions would be for going against him. Phil wanted to see Dan and he wanted to see him _now_.

There were no footsteps down the corridors leading from the main tower, no signs of anyone who would catch him. The door that led down into the dungeons was but a few metres away. Phil walked that few metres.

The door opened almost silently, but Phil knew it would make noise if it closed, so he left it ajar and made his way down the stairs into the dungeons. 

Cells lined a long corridor, with multiple other corridors extending from it. Phil had never been down in the dungeons before, never had a reason to. As he passed cell after cell, he realised that most were unoccupied, but those that were held mere shells of individuals; people so frail and weak that they could hardly pick up their food or move from where they sat on the cold, stone floor. Some were chained to walls, others cowered in corners, many shivered from the frost that hung in the air - but no matter what they were doing, they all had one thing in common. They were all terrified.

At the very end of the corridor, there was a left passage and a right. The left passage was barren, empty. The right had two guards standing around halfway down it. They spotted Phil almost immediately.

"Sir Philip, what are you doing down here?" One of them asked, taking a step towards him.

"I'm here to see Exile," Phil said. It was more of a demand than asking for permission.

"My apologies, Sir, but we can't let you." The other told, "King's orders. No one's allowed to see him."

Phil looked between them for a moment. The flame that burned on brightened. He reached for his sword, but before he could even get it an inch out of its scabbard, the guards dived at him. Phil thrashed and struggled in their grip, but it was all in vain. They dragged him back down the corridor, up the stairs and towards King James in the throne room.

The knights explained what Phil had done, and Phil remained silent throughout the exchange, refusing to look at the king. Only when King James ushered the knights back to their duty did he look at him, and he looked him straight in the eye.

King James' expression darkened the moment they were alone. He stood from his throne and slowly strode his way down the steps to stand before Phil, his substantial height towering over his form.

"It would appear as though you never stopped caring for that boy after all," King James stated, his voice flat and gravelly, yet somehow still a sickly smooth that plummeted terror straight into the very depths of Phil's stomach, "which means you yourself are a liar for putting up the front that you completely forgot him, and therefore, you are a hypocrite too."

Phil's jaw clenched as he held back the urge to punch the king in the face. He went to turn back and flee from the room before he could no longer resist, but as he did so, King James clasped his wrist and he shot back around to look at him again.

His grip was tight, enough to cut off circulation if he held on for too long, and he dug his nails as deep as he could into Phil's skin. The pain was excruciating, like many sharp needles had pierced him at once, but he gave his best attempt to not show it.

"Let me remind you that you're being crowned prince tomorrow," King James growled, "You should do well not to lose that crown."

At the feel of King James' nails starting to torturously scratch across his skin, Phil let out a small grunt. The king lifted his arm, pulling it closer, forcing Phil to look him in the eye again.

"You wouldn't want to lose that crown because of this _Daniel_ boy, would you?"

Phil swallowed thickly, "No, Sire."

"Good," King James said, letting go of his wrist and turning back to his throne, "Now leave, that's an order."

Phil didn't answer. He simply clutched his aching wrist and fled, out of the throne room, out of the castle, down the avenue and back into his family's manor. As he barged in, he viewed Ezra and Scarlett in the kitchen but made a beeline for the stairs. Louise sat with Phil's parents in the sitting room - PJ and Chris probably had duties they had to get back to - but he bypassed them too. He stormed into his room and slammed the doors, sliding a fresh wooden plank between the newly-fixed handles before he slinked down it to the floor.

He could hear voices on the other side, calling after him. There came knocks at his door, but it all merged into a feverish blur.

His room had been cleared up. It was like nothing had happened at all; like he hadn't seen Exile was in his home, or battled him, tried to _kill_ him, been thrown onto his desk by him, cut his hand, shoved him back into the window shutter in return, forced his sword to his neck, then to his chest, or forced him to reveal himself.

Like he had never found out that Exile was Dan. That Dan was still alive.

Eventually, the voices stopped, and he was left alone with only silence to accompany him.

He looked down to his wrist. The wounds King James had inflicted dug far enough to draw a good amount of blood, which had now been smothered all across his wrist from him holding it. His hand was shaking - his whole body was shaking.

He didn't want to be a prince anymore; in fact, thinking back, he never had.

~

Daniel sighed, sat upon the uncomfortably bumpy stone flooring of a dungeon cell. The chains around his wrists clinked as he moved his hands away from his face.

"Well fucking done, Dan. How the fuck are you going to get yourself out of this?"

"I could help,"

Dan froze solid for a moment at the whisper of an unknown voice, every muscle tense. He thought the next guard hadn't arrived yet - he certainly hadn't heard anyone coming down the corridor, anyway - and he knew damn well it wasn't another prisoner. He'd been locked up in a cell that was far from anyone else.

In the corner of his eye, Dan viewed a figure walk to stand in front of his cell. He turned his head and looked up at the person's face, instantly relaxing at the sight of someone familiar.

"PJ," Dan whispered in surprise, his eyes narrowing for a moment, "You're willing to do that for me?"

PJ flashed a small, innocent smile, crouching down at the other side of the bars, "Of course, but I need you to do something in return."

Dan surveyed him for a second. There was a pleading look in his eye, no sign of him attempting to lure him into a trap. And anyway, what would be the reason for him doing so? PJ's plea seemed genuine, so Dan nodded for him to go ahead.

"I've heard you're a healer or something of the sort. You make things that can help or even cure ill and injured people. Is that true?" Dan hummed in confirmation, and PJ went on, his voice a mere murmur, "Okay, I want to propose a deal. I will set you free and take your place if you give me your word that you'll go to Chris' family's manor straight away when you get out of here."

"Why do I need to go there?" Dan asked.

"It's his mother, she's sick," PJ told, "We don't know how long she's got left, but we know it's not much. The higher class physicians have been useless. Said there's nothing they can do, but both Chris and I don't think they're right. There has to be something that someone can do, and I'm hoping that someone is you."

Dan nodded slowly, thinking the proposal through. Before he could open his mouth to answer, however, PJ spoke up again.

"If you're worried about the guards finding out before your sentencing in the morning, you'll have a cloth bag placed over your head." He told, holding up a rough and opaque but thin piece of material. At the sight of Dan furrowing his brows in confusion, he explained further, "It's so you can't tell where you're going, so you can't attempt to escape while you're being taken up into the throne room."

"Ah," Dan nodded, "That's actually pretty clever."

PJ hummed, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips, "Anyway, we're of similar build, similar height. And I tried to replicate your clothes," He said, gesturing to the jerkin, tunic and dark pants he wore that were almost identical to Dan's, "If you place that bag over my head once we've swapped places, I highly doubt they'd know the difference until it's taken off."

Dan raised his eyebrows a little, thoroughly impressed. He couldn't see how PJ could possibly betray him with this plan since he'd be throwing himself in harm's way for him. "Alright, it's a deal. I'll try my best to help Chris' mother."

PJ exhaled in relief, "Thank you so much." He reached for a set of keys hanging from his belt, looking back over his shoulder down the corridor as he did so. After a moment, he found the right key and went about unlocking the cell door.

It squeaked ever so slightly as he opened it. Both he and Dan cringed at the noise, but as silence followed, they relaxed again and PJ went about rushing up to Dan and unlocking the chains around his wrists.

"I want you to blame me when you get pulled into that throne room tomorrow," Dan whispered.

"What?"

"When that bag gets pulled off of your head, don't say you have no idea what happened, blame me," Dan said, now free from the chains. He moved away from the wall and PJ proceeded to take his place, "Make up an excuse as to why you're in my place and make it as realistic and believable as possible." The chains made a satisfying click as they locked around PJ's wrists, "Put on a show. Make me out to be as horrible as possible if you have to. Say I broke out of or unlocked the chains somehow and jumped you, knocked you out. Say I made you take my place, forced you into chains with a bag over your head, something like that. Absolutely anything, just make sure you sell the lie."

"Won't making you out to be more horrible just make you look more dangerous?" PJ asked, concern slathered on his face, "Wouldn't it get you into more trouble?"

Dan flashed him a mischievous smirk, "Probably, but I'm already in enough trouble for James to want me dead as it is. A little more won't kill me any faster."

PJ chuckled at that, "Thanks for doing this, Dan. I'm trusting you."

"You're helping me escape certain death, Peej," Dan said, fondling the cloth bag, "I won't betray that trust and let you down. I'll do everything I can to help Chris' mother, but I can't promise I can cure her."

"Your best is all I'm asking for." PJ said, before adding after a moment's pause, "They'll be expecting you, by the way, so your visit won't be a shock to them."

With an affirming nod, Dan placed the bag over PJ's head. After checking he could breathe alright, Dan took the keys, locked the cell and, with one last thank you, he fled from the castle and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Memento mori


	12. Reign; Healing

This was all one hell of a risky gamble - Chris knew that far too well. As he paced in and out of rooms on the bottom floor of his family's manor, he chewed at his nails. His mother was on the brink of death, PJ had gone and put himself in one hell of a dangerous situation in order to help, and for all they knew, Dan might not even show up.

Though he deeply cared for his mother - and certainly didn't want to see her die - he feared for PJ most. He was willing to swap places with Exile and be shackled in a cold cell all night _just_ to help. He could get caught, locked up for good and executed. Tonight could've been the very last night Chris would see him.

The thought of losing his best friend was overwhelmingly frightful - he would much rather die than see a fate that didn't have PJ in it. Chris realised his breath had quickened and he stopped pacing to settle himself down, briskly finding that he'd halted in the kitchen. PJ had given him so much reassurance that he'd be alright and that Dan can be trusted.

Certainly, at that moment, a hug from PJ would've settled every ounce of worry he had. Chris hugged himself to suffice, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Then, through the silence of the manor, there came a noise. Chris darted his attention towards the window it had originated from. The shutters shifted into the room ever so slightly, letting out a faint creak, and a soft knock resonated as they closed back into their previous place.

He would've thought it was nothing, had the shutters not been locked and the wind had been bellowing outside through the night.

Something had pushed it.

The same noise resonated from the dining room - faint, yet still prominent - and as Chris marched in, he saw the shutters of both of the windows fall back in place, just like the one in the kitchen.

Chris had an inkling. He wandered out into the hall and towards the back door, grasping the hilt of his sword just in case. After unlocking and vigilantly swinging it open, he took a step outside.

And there, to his left, stood Exile, hiding in the manor's shadow.

An instant wave of relief washed over him. Chris promptly stepped aside and Dan entered gratefully, pulling his mask down from his face as Chris closed and locked the door behind them.

"So, how long has your mother been ill for?" Dan asked, not even bothering with small talk or even a simple greeting.

"She's been feeling ill and had a cough for a couple of days now," Chris told, "but she just crumbled all of a sudden a few hours ago. She can barely stand, is hot to the touch, sweating, can hardly breathe and she's got rashes up her arms."

Dan nodded, appearing in thought as he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall. He seemed to be in no sort of rush, and the lack of urgency in the way he strode into the kitchen had an odd settling effect on Chris.

A little calmer, he curiously followed Dan. "Do you know what's up with her?"

"Yes, it's seen every now and then amongst the townspeople. It's completely curable with some medicine and a couple of other things." Dan cast his gaze across the room towards the pantry door then, before looking to Chris, "Do you mind if I use a few things for the remedy?"

"Of course not, go ahead."

Dan wandered into the pantry and Chris stood in the doorway, watching him take items from shelves, baskets and jars. After grasping everything he needed, he made his way past Chris and back into the kitchen, where he instantly got to work.

Dan scoffed and shook his head, "These people you call _physicians_ are pretty shit at their job. They're not even able to identify such a common illness? How absurd. It's clear they've never set foot anywhere near the townspeople - or even an actual disease to begin with." He grumbled bitterly, sprinkling a herb into a liquid. It was as though he was on autopilot - like he'd done it a million times before, "Anyway, I'm not going to be able to make the complete medicine right now. There are a couple of ingredients missing, but this should be able to get her through the night."

"Alright," Chris nodded, taking a deep breath, "what about after that?"

"I can make a big batch with all of the ingredients in. With that, she should get better within a week." After a moment, he poured the resulting concoction into a small cup and turned back to Chris, "It's done."

Dan followed Chris out of the kitchen then, travelling up the stairs and into Ms Kendall's room, where she lay in bed, her two maidservants tending to her every need. The room was dark, lit only by the fire in the fireplace and the oil lamp on one of the bedside tables. But, even in the dim light, Dan could see that she appeared withered. Wisps of dark brown hair fell down her face, which was a sickening pale colour, and her eyes, most definitely sensitive, were squinting against what very little light there was from exhaustion.

The boys joined the maidservants at her bedside.

"You're actually here," Ms Kendall said, just about managing a croaky whisper.

"Of course," Dan smiled meekly, "Anything for a couple of friends who are willing to help me escape death."

The residents of the Kendall manor all smiled in unison, and Ms Kendall even let out a feeble chuckle.

"Here," Dan said, holding the cup in an outstretched hand, which one of the maidservants took, "It won't taste too nice, but it should help you for tonight. I'm going to make one that can cure you completely once I've returned to my home, and I'll get that to you as soon as I can."

Chris held his mother's head up as the maidservant poured the concoction into her mouth. As expected, Ms Kendall's face scrunched up at the taste, but she swallowed the drink despite it.

"Thank you," She said as her head was placed back down onto her pillow.

Dan nodded politely. He said a swift goodbye to Ms Kendall and the maidservants before Chris led him out of the room. Chris closed the bedroom doors behind them and, upon turning back to Dan, lunged at him, his arms hugging around his neck.

"Thank you so much for doing this." He murmured.

Grinning, Dan squeezed him back, "Anytime."

After a moment, the pair let go of each other, and Dan informed him, "Along with the medicine, you'll have to make sure that she's constantly drinking plenty of water over the next week, and she should take a couple of hot and cold baths too."

"Alright, I'll make sure to notify the maidservants of that," Chris said with a nod, "So, how are you going to get the medicine to me?"

"I'll deliver it here at some point after the court gathering tomorrow. Your mother will have to take the remedy twice a day, in the morning when she wakes up and in the evening before she goes to sleep."

"Okay," Chris nodded.

A question begged at Dan's mind as a small pause ensued between them. Eventually, he asked, "Chris, how do you know you can trust me?"

Chris simply looked at him for a moment - stared him in the eye. He appeared to think. "We were friends once, Daniel, and I'd like to believe we still are; that we always have been, ever since we met."

"But I-"

"Killed a man? Yeah, I know. But everyone hated Mr Richard. He lived only to make people miserable, both in the lower class and in the higher. I've heard he's done some awful things, things I'd consider to be far worse than anything you could ever commit, Dan. So, trust me, you did plenty of people a favour." Dan chuckled lightly at that, and Chris added, "To be honest, I wanted to do it myself."

Dan grinned, "And why didn't you?"

"PJ. He's always keeping me out of trouble." Chris smiled fondly for a moment, "Um, how is he, by the way? Is he alright?"

"Yes, he's fine. His plan thus far is successful, and I don't see it not being so in the morning come the sentencing. He agreed to make up a lie and say I forced him into taking my place and there was nothing he could do against it, so he shouldn't get into any trouble."

At that, Chris sighed, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders.

"His plan is very thought-out, and quite genius," Dan added, "He's a smart guy."

"Yeah, he is," Chris smiled, a blush lightly painting his cheeks, before he extended his arm towards Dan, "Thanks again for doing this,"

Smiling, Dan grasped his hand and shook it, and nodded once, before silently making his exit into the shadows of the night.

~

_You're being crowned prince tomorrow. You should do well not to lose that crown._

_You wouldn't want to lose that crown over this_ Daniel _boy, would you?_

The phrase sang joyously in Phil's ears; danced around his form, taunting him and tearing him apart.

When Phil was a young teenager, he had come to an unsettling revelation. Since then, it had been something he denied, something he'd ignored and shoved to the back of his mind to deal with later in his life. It was only a couple of years ago that he finally accepted it.

His heart ached. It ached for Dan. And now, as Phil sat on the cold, wooden floor at the end of his bed, wrapped in Dan's cloak, it ached more than ever.

He was going to be crowned prince and married off to a princess. One day, he was going to be _king._ He should be happy. He knows plenty of people who could only dream of and would do absolutely anything for such an opportunity.

But Phil was heartbroken, trapped and alone knowing that he had no choice; that his destiny was already written out for him, no matter how much he didn't want it. He was going to be king one day, and a fucking miserable one at that.

What he wanted was Dan, but he couldn't ever let that be known. He'd be disowned, ridiculed, maybe even exiled, and he wouldn't even have Dan with him if that happened.

Because Dan was going to die, and there was nothing he could do.

Phil clenched bunches of the soft fabric of the cloak in tights fists closer against his burning chest. He didn't think he'd felt so much pain in his life as he choked up a sob; something he hadn't done since he was a child.

He wanted Dan; he'd always wanted Dan.

At that moment, a brief glimmer caught his eye. It was small and could've easily gone unnoticed or been ignored, but Phil turned to look anyway. His gaze met his greatsword, hung up on the wall beside his bedroom doors.

Outside of his thoughts, the night was quiet. The only sound Phil could hear was the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, it's soft glows cast throughout the dim room. One of the sparking flames had reflected off his sword, almost as though it was reaching out to offer him a distraction from his mind.

It only reminded him that Dan's sword was still under his bed, left untouched and forgotten from the day's events. Phil turned and, dragging Dan's cloak along with him, shuffled around to the side of his bed, where the blade's hilt was just sticking out from beneath the frame. He took a firm hold of the leather-bound metal and, as he carefully pulled out the sword and sat back up, something caught his eye.

He took notice of a prominent gap that was on one of the lower shelves of his bookcases. There were books missing - three, to be exact: an astronomy book, an English reading and writing book and what was Phil's favourite story as a child. The entire bookcase was packed with books of all shapes and colours, so this gap - though little compared to the rest of the bookcases - looked incredibly out of place. But Phil had never dared move the other books to hide it, leaving only dust to accumulate in their wake.

Phil shuffled so his back was against his bed, and he directed his attention to the sword again, which he placed on his lap over the blanket of warmth that was Dan's cloak.

Apart from a few tatters and wears in the blade, it was completely identical to his own. Nothing had been changed about it. Phil's eyes narrowed as he traced his fingers across the engravings in the crossguard. He could tell the blade had been sharpened recently, and the leather on the handle had been replaced as of recent too. Dan was taking care of it, and the fact that it was getting worn and blunt in the first place could only mean he was using it; _often_.

He was a brilliant swordsman, probably even better than Phil himself, so it didn't surprise him. Dan's skill was extraordinary. When they were children, he'd picked up fighting tactics and methods with ease, but now, his efforts in a fight were almost perfect. He was even using strategies Phil had never seen before, hadn't even _heard_ of before, in all of his years of training. Dan had to continue to learn somewhere, somehow, and against someone.

_Just, who?_

A sudden wave of dread plummeted into his gut then. Dan's ability meant he probably could take on multiple men at once, if just for a short while to buy him some time to escape. If Phil hadn't made Dan throw his sword to the floor, if he'd taken it with him when he fled from the manor, he probably would've been able to fight his way to freedom.

But no. He was left defenceless as knights chased after him like hounding dogs after a fox. They'd caught up, dragged him to the castle and thrown him into a dismal dungeon cell.

_This was my fault._

Stinging tears brimmed Phil's eyes and he started to sob again. He gripped the sword and lifted it, hugging it towards his chest - just like Dan had when he'd ran from the castle that fateful night, ten years before. A couple of salty droplets splashed onto the blade, sliding down the silver metal. Phil had to bite down on a wail, muffling it with his hand as to not awaken his parents or servants from their slumber.

Eventually, he went to put the sword back on his lap, but that wasn't before a sharp sensation shot through his arm. Instinctively, he threw the sword away from him, it soaring to his right across the room and clattering to a stop by the ajar shutters of his window.

He'd pierced himself, and quite badly at that. He watched the blood snake down his forearm, his limb quivering from the shock. He placed his hand over the wound, and while the warmth emanating from his palm provided some relief, it was very little. His flesh still burned, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his arm.

Phil took a few deep breaths and, soon enough, the pain ceased. It was replaced by a sudden fatigue, and Phil felt himself drifting. Too exhausted to change his clothes and get into bed, he shuffled down right where he was to lay on his side, where he pulled Dan's cloak closer against him as the glow from the fire fell into darkness.

~

Phil awoke to the faint smell of smoke, presumably from the ceasing fire in the fireplace. It was the light glaring at him from a break in his room's window shutters that had stirred him, and as he opened his eyes, he found that he was in bed.

But he'd fallen asleep on the _floor_.

He sat up and tore the sheets away from his form, revealing that he still adorned yesterday's clothing. The bedcurtains to his right and at the end of his bed had been drawn to a close, however, the ones to his left were still tied back to the bedposts, just like they would usually be during the day.

There was a bowl of water on the bedside table, a white rag drooping over the rim. The chair from his desk had been brought to his bedside at an angle; it had a note on the seat, and an odd form of comfort washed over him as he saw Dan's cloak hanging over the back.

Someone had taken care of him in the night, that much was obvious, but he swore he'd locked his bedroom door yesterday. How would anyone have been able to get in?

Phil went to extend his arm over himself to pick up the note, only to feel a harsh stiffness in his outstretched forearm. Gazing down at the limb, he realised that there was a bandage wrapped around it, covering where he'd cut himself the night before. Phil winced and grunted at the unsettling feeling as he twisted out from under his sheets and dangled his legs over the side of the bed. There, he was able to pick up the note without having to stretch his arm.

_**Phil,** _

_**You're probably confused as to how you magically got from being asleep on the floor to awakening in your bed, however, I'd first like to begin with telling you that PJ and Chris are a pair of truly extraordinary people. It's only because of them that I escaped my death sentence so, without them, I wouldn't have lived to see another day.** _

Phil let as though weights were hanging from every part of his body all of a sudden. "Dan?" He questioned under his breath, eyes darting to read on.

**_During his duty in the dungeons, PJ came to me with a proposal and helped me get out. He offered to take my place on the count that I'd help Chris' mother, who you may or may not know has fallen terribly ill. Before I condemned myself to a not-so-lovely fate by making my appearance in the kingdom more well-known, I was a healer for the townspeople._ _I'm unsure as to how either of them found this out, but I didn't dwell on it. I did what I promised I'd do. Luckily, Ms Kendall will be well within the next week._ **

_**Seeing PJ and Chris again was wonderful, and I hope to see Louise again too, but after I left Chris', I desperately wanted to see you. So, I decided to pay you a visit. While I was trying to find a way in, I heard a sword clatter from your room, so I believed you were awake. I climbed up to your window (and really hoped the strange and unexpected entrance wouldn't alarm you) but when I got up, you were asleep on the floor.** _

_**Your arm was bleeding. Your blood was on my sword, but by the fact I found it halfway across the room, I get the feeling you cut yourself by accident and flung it as a reflex. I'm making this assumption because, funnily enough, I did the exact same not too long ago.** _ _**I had to take the sword back, by the way. I have a feeling I'm going to need it now more than ever - but you can keep the cloak. It's not like I need that anymore. And s** _ _**ince I found you wrapped in it, I figured you'd favour keeping it.** _

_**Anyway, I put you to bed and cleaned and bandaged the wound for you. As far as I know, I didn't wake anyone in the night, so no one knows of my visit but you. I stayed and watched over you for a little while to make sure you'd be okay, but I have to leave. I'm writing you this note just before I go. I have a remedy I need to get to Chris after the sentencing that I won't be attending.** _

_**I hope you are doing well. I'm aware you're being crowned prince tomorrow, on your coming of age. Happy 21st birthday in advance, although I take it you're probably reading this on the morn of it. I'm not quite sure if your opinions on being crowned have changed since we were children, but either way, my beliefs on the matter still stand. You will make a brilliant prince, Phil, and an even greater king. My only wish is that I could be with you along your journey.** _

_**And yes, I know I shouldn't be aware of the crowning yet. The townspeople are supposed to know after you've been crowned prince, and no earlier. But that's for another day. Another note, maybe. Or possibly a conversation! I can actually talk now, after all, thanks to you.** _

_**I realised** _ _**a long time ago that I never got a chance to acknowledge what you've done for me, so I'll do it now, just in case I never get the chance to again. Thank you for showing me the world. For that, you mean more than all of the stars in the universe combined to me and I'll always be here for you.** _

_**With love always, Daniel** _

For the first time in a long while, Phil felt warm. He smiled fondly, a soft exhale resonating in the otherwise silent room. He looked towards his window shutters, his gaze cast to the floor in front of them, and sure enough, Dan's sword was gone.

He owed PJ and Chris everything. They saved Dan. He was still alive, and he had his defence back. Phil had no doubt Dan would seek trouble in the high class again, so he knew he'd need it.

Phil leaned forward to grasp the cloak, pulled it from the back of the chair and let his hand feel the material for a moment before he stood up. He placed the cloak so it flowed over his arm before he folded the note as he wandered over to his desk, where he delicately put the piece of paper between the pages of the open notebook sat upon his desk.

With that, Phil remembered the events of the day, but held his head high and smiled as he went about getting himself ready to face his crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter being late! I've been busy studying for exams that I have coming up next week and the week after, so I haven't had as much time to write. Because of this, unfortunately, the next chapter will be uploaded in three weeks instead of the normal two.
> 
> So, I'll give you some clues as to what's going to go down in the next chapter:  
> A furious King James, Dan's POV, infatuation and some exercise
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	13. Reign; The Court & The Crown

Upon his entrance into the castle with his parents in tow, Phil was greeted by knights and servants bowing before him and congratulating him on his coming-of-age. The ceremonies would commence later on in the day, however. In the throne room, a bitter, apprehensive air had settled amongst a large court of all noblemen and women for Exile's sentencing. There wasn't so much as a peep of commendation for Phil from any of them, but that was something he greatly preferred.

As part of the High Council, Phil's parents marched up to stand at the other side of King James' throne from Queen Rosalind and Princess Vivienne-May. Meanwhile, Phil stood on the step below his parents with Chris by his side. Usually, PJ would be with them also, and it seemed King James caught on to this fact.

"Sir Philip, Sir Christopher, where is Sir Phineas-Jay?" The king asked, squinting his eyes in a sceptical fashion.

"I haven't seen him since last night, Sire," Chris told, "when he left to do his duty in the dungeon."

King James simply nodded, "Having a lie-in, I see. I don't blame him. I would too if I had to listen to Exile yap on all night. No matter, the court will go on without him." At that moment, the king cast his attention to a couple of knights who were standing at either side of the grand doors at the other end of the room. "Bring me the prisoner!"

The knights bowed to the king before they left and, soon enough, they returned with a man who had his hands chained behind his back and a bag over his head. Phil swallowed thickly as he watched the knights drag him across the room, tightly gripping an arm each. When they reached the steps up to the throne, they threw him to his knees.

"Reveal him," King James ordered.

One of the knights obeyed. They pulled the ragged bag from the man's head with one violent tug.

The court gasped in horror. There, kneeling before the council, was Sir PJ Liguori.

In the corner of his eye, Phil could see King James' expression twist, a vexed fire behind his eyes. "What is this?" He growled, baffled, "Sir Phineas-Jay, I _demand_ to know why you are in Exile's place."

In his crumpled, belittled state, PJ looked up towards the king. He looked awful, and even from the distance which he stood, Phil could see how his body trembled with shock and his eyes shook in pure terror. "It was all Exile's fault, Sire," He said, distress heavy in his tone, "He broke free of his chains somehow, I-I don't know how but he did. It came out of nowhere. There was a loud noise, like a thud, and the next thing I know, my vision blurred."

There were whispers about the troubled court. PJ's parents were in disarray, desperate to run to their son's aid, but they didn't want to defy the rules of the court.

PJ's gaze darted around the faces of the High Council, urging his body as far forward as he could in his bound state. "He threatened that if I yelled out for help, I'd meet the same fate as Mr Richard. And then, everything went black. When I awoke, I was chained to the wall with a bag over my head, right in his place, and he was gone."

King James' fists clenched on the arms of his throne. Fury radiated from his being; it shook him to his very core, a visible heat that everyone in the room could feel.

It was all so incredibly convincing that even a part of Phil wanted to believe the things PJ was saying, but then, his startled stare cast to his left, where he met Chris' eye. A subtle knowing look was set in his expression, a look that reassured him of the truth he already knew, and they looked at each other for a moment longer before they looked back towards PJ.

"Unchain him," The king demanded through gritted teeth, "This court is dismissed."

With that, the noblemen and women filed out. After PJ was unchained and pulled to his feet, his parents rushed to his side. Chris did the same, hugging him after PJ's mother had finished doing so.

Phil, however, stayed where he was. He turned briefly to look at King James to see his head was in his hand, covering his eyes as his index finger and thumb rubbed at his temples. There was a prominent downward tilt to his lips, and it appeared his jaw was clenched.

Phil looked away from him back towards PJ, who's gaze flittered amongst the people around him almost warily until it met Phil's. PJ gave him a light, acknowledging nod, and Phil nodded back his thanks.

~

A couple of hours later, the entirety of the upper class was entering the castle to watch Phil be crowned Prince. They strode in family by family and took to their final positions standing in rows in the royal throne room. The velvet carpet divided the people, serving the perfect walkway, and the midday sun filtered into the room from the large windows above the throne. The Philautian flag decorated the room purple and lavender and the room glittered from the array of guests who wore their best, jewelled outfits.

After everyone had arrived, the castle's front doors closed with a loud boom that echoed through the main tower and its adjoining corridors. A line of knights guarded the entrance, as though Exile's genius way of getting in - if he were to try at all - would be to simply wander up to the front doors. Knights also littered the front of the castle's grounds, were positioned every so often along the top of the walls and, inside, they were on every floor and they surrounded the throne room.

Of course, that didn't stop Dan from attempting and eventually achieving triumph by getting in. In fact, he'd been in the castle before any of the knights had been ordered to be on the lookout for him. He wanted to watch Phil be crowned if it was the last thing he'd ever do, and nothing was going to stop him.

As the ceremony began, he watched on from the doorway at the top of the throne room stairwells - where, stupidly enough, no knight had been positioned - hiding out of sight.

Dignified, King James sat upon his throne with his wife and daughter standing by his side. They dressed refined and prim, not a crinkle out of place, clad in what was likely the most expensive clothing in the entire kingdom.

After a long, quiet moment, the guests started to bow, and Phil came into view, drifting down the plush carpet. A long plum-coloured cloak flowed from his shoulders, gliding at his ankles, with violets and silvers embroidered into the fine material. He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the steps to the throne.

It took a little while for Phil to actually be crowned. The king babbled on for a bit beforehand, none of which Dan actually listened to. Though Phil had his back to him, he could see in Phil's stance that he was slowly getting bored of having to stand there and hold his own weight up, and the heavy cloak probably didn't help.

Soon enough, Dan tuned back into what was going on when Phil knelt on the bottom step and King James stood from his throne. He took the prince's crown from a pillow that was being held by who Dan assumed was Phil's father, considering there were many similarities between the two, and from there, King James walked down the steps.

He was still talking, rambling some sort of oath, until he towered over Phil's form and, holding the crown in outstretched hands, he slowly lowered it onto his head.

"...I crown you Prince Philip of Philautia."

The silence in the room was instantly decimated when the crowd started cheering. Phil got back to his feet and turned to face the rest of the room, donning his new crown.

Daniel believed it suited him rather well. He felt his face heat up, his cheeks surely painted a pretty shade of pink, and a fond smile lifted the corners of his lips upward. He rested his head against the wall, almost infatuated by the man's bewitchery. He knew Phil would make a brilliant prince, and a very handsome one too. Yet still, amongst his pride there settled a burning despair in the very depths of his heart.

"For someone who's just been crowned prince, he doesn't look too happy."

Though it pulled him from his mind, the voice didn't startle him. Dan turned his gaze around to view the source of the voice, only to come across a familiar, friendly face.

"Probably because he isn't happy, Sir Thomas," Dan said simply, his voice hushed as to not gather attention - if that were even possible amongst the bustle going on below them.

The Philautian knight wandered forward from the doorway he stood in, having previously been watching the ceremony - and watching out for anyone who could walk in and see Dan - from the balcony corridors surrounding the throne room.

"And what of you?" Thomas asked, speaking at the same volume as Dan, "Are you going to do anything about this?"

Dan shook his head, "No," He briefly glanced back into the throne room to see Prince Phil talking with many of the noblemen and women, "I'm happy for him. This is his day, I won't interrupt it."

Thomas nodded, "Alright, I can respect that."

Dan continued to watch the event unfold. Noble after noble wandered to him, bowed and congratulated him, and Prince Phil would politely nod back. But his smile faltered easily, and more and more with every compliment he received.

"I worry for him," Dan admitted, his eyebrows furrowed and lips forming a frown.

"Why is that?"

"I don't think he wants this. He certainly didn't as a child, he revealed that to me himself, and I think his opinion on the matter still stands. I found him unconscious on his bedroom floor last night. He was wrapped in my cloak." That detail within his memory made him smile faintly before it faded back into a frown once again, "I could tell he'd been crying before he fell asleep. I'd like to guess that's all rather out of character for him."

"I don't know Prince Philip too well, but I think I know him well enough to believe that would be so," Thomas agreed.

"What worried me most was the injuries I found on him," Dan went on, "There was a cut on his forearm, caused by my sword, but I'm hoping that was merely an accident. It didn't look intentional, anyway, and my sword was halfway across the room from him. That led me to believe he threw it out of shock. But then, I found bruises and fingernail marks on his left wrist - _deep_ fingernail marks. And his entire wrist was just...black and blue. I'm convinced that _had_ to be intentional, and not of his own fault."

A profoundly concerned expression twisted Thomas' face, causing him to crease his eyebrows and frown. "Do you think someone is hurting him?" He asked.

Dan nodded, his head heavy and eyes dull with solemn, "Yes. I think it and I fear it. The only person that I'd believe could do such a thing is James."

"I must admit, Prince Philip has been acting oddly...distant as of recent, and many have noticed it. In fact, I've spoken about it with a few other knights. We just put it down to stress from expectations and pressure put on him by King James. He is now the future king, after all. It must be quite a terrifying burden to carry."

"I'm sure that's part of it, but _god_ ," Dan's jaw visibly clenched, his expression suddenly switching to that of an acidic resentment, "if I find it out to be true, that that _bastard_ is hurting him, I can't be sure what kind of unearthly hell I'd unleash on him."

"If you wish for me to do so, I'll make sure to watch over King James and Prince Philip and inform you of anything out of the ordinary." Thomas proposed kindly.

Dan exhaled, feeling the rage flow out of him like water from a faucet, before he looked back over his shoulder towards Sir Thomas and smiled. "That would be excellent of you, Thomas, thank you."

Dan turned back to the event to see that a dance had begun. Prince Philip and Princess Vivienne-May were the centres of attention as they spun and twirled in perfect, elegant circles.

"I think it's best I take my leave," Dan said, smiling fondly once again.

Sir Thomas nodded courtly, "Very well. You should go down there," He pointed down a corridor that was adjacent to Dan, "Keep going and eventually you'll come to another tower, descend the stairwell to the very bottom and then go down the corridor to your right. Take the first left and keep going until you come to a door at the very end. Out there are the castle grounds. You'll see a tower across them to your right. That entire area - the grounds, the top of the walls, everything - should be unoccupied, given it's at the back of the castle. It's also a blindspot for every single position a knight is in, so you should be able to run straight to the tower. When inside, head up to the next floor and stay on it, go left and keep going straight. Eventually, you'll come to the walls surrounding the high class and you should be free from danger from there, but I'd still be vigilant. And remember to be wary of servants along the way."

Dan memorised the instructions before he grinned appreciatively, "Thank you, Thomas."

With a smile, Sir Thomas bowed to him, and Dan bowed back before he made his exit. He hurried down the castle's corridors, keeping a firm grip on the hilt of his sword, which was nestled nicely in the scabbard attached to his belt, just in case he were to bump into a knight that had wandered from their post. He descended the swirling stairwell and passed through the corridor to his right undetected, his footsteps masked by the lively chatter from the throne room. He took the first corridor on his left, hastening down the barren hall with ease. And then he stopped.

A sharp gasp fluttered down the corridor, echoing softly into his ears. There was no one in front of him, so Dan turned to look over his shoulder. In the corner of his eye, a figure stood at the end of the corridor, short and feeble. He shuffled around to face the source fully, and his eyes met that of a young maidservant.

Dan's heartbeat leapt at the sight of her, and there was silence as the two simply stared at each other. The maidservant looked horrified, eyes wide and breath shaking, but she didn't appear to be frightened of Dan. She looked warily to her left and then her right, and then back at him.

Dan inhaled deeply through his nose, his eyes pleading; pleading for her to let him go, to not run off screaming for guards. He could sense guilt mixing into her terror somewhere. She frowned and her eyebrows furrowed, and when she mouthed a quick 'I'm so sorry' to him, he knew he was fucked.

Dan stayed frozen in place as she darted out of sight down the corridor to her left, and moments later, a gut-wrenching shrill resonated, silencing the bustle in the throne room.

"Exile is in the castle!"

There was a brief moment, lasting a mere second, where all Dan could hear was his own exhale. The feeling in his body returned after that, as an uproar soared through the halls, shouts of shock and confusion and despair, metal pounding against stone and armour clinking violently.

Dan spun on his heel and ran for it. Like he'd been instructed, he continued down that corridor, hearing bellows from the dozens of guards who were racing after him. It wasn't long before he'd come to the door at the end, which was luckily unlocked, and he catapulted himself out of it.

Running to the tower would be a stupid idea. In such an enclosed space as inside the kingdom walls, he would most definitely get cornered or surrounded and taken prisoner once more. And if that were to happen, he had no doubt he'd have absolutely no escape this time.

So, instead, Dan fled across the grounds, through beautiful gardens and lavish courtyards to the front of the castle. Once he set foot onto the paving that led towards the gatehouse into the upper class, he was noticed by the knights standing at the top of the walls. In a matter of moments, the portcullis quickly started to draw down to the ground, the metal clanging of its mechanisms resonating across the gardens.

Luckily, Dan made it through, only having to duck a little. The portcullis closed on the knights who were chasing behind him, forcing them to stop in their tracks. Dan smirked in triumph but knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. He continued to sprint down the main avenue of the upper class, the slight downward slope helping him to push on.

He was halfway down the avenue when the portcullis to the marketsquare started to close. Panic set in, coursing through his blood. Dan could feel himself starting to slow despite urging himself to go faster, his chest tight and legs weakening at the sudden weight fatigue added to his body.

Just as he expected, the portcullis closed way before he could reach it. The loud clang of the metal hitting the cobbled ground shook the foundations of the kingdom, echoing throughout the walls.

Dan slowed to a stop metres before the gate, gasping air in and out of his burning lungs. His jaw clenched bitterly and he scowled at the portcullis.

" _Fuck_ ," He growled under his breath.

There was shouting behind him again. It was getting louder with every second that ticked by. Dan glanced over his shoulder to see knights on the chase again, coming to collect him and force him back into the castle's dungeon. They ran, swords gripped in locked fists.

Dan's hand met the hilt of his own sword. He heaved the shining steel blade from its scabbard on his belt as he turned to face the incoming onslaught. He brandished the greatsword almost invitingly, challenging the knights, _daring_ them to fight him.

Dan widened his stance and braced himself. He wasn't willing to surrender so easily this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I really hope this was worth the extra week's wait! I can certainly promise that the next chapter is going to be very action-packed and things are going to start to get very interesting from here (if they weren't interesting to you already lol). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! <3
> 
> Also WOAH last minute edit because when tf did this reach over 400 hits?? Thank you so much! I will cherish you all forever


	14. Reign; The Reckless Act of Enduring

An intense, brutal battle was taking place in the high class, and it was barely midday. Swords yelped, their clangs and shrieks pulsating through the air as they struck against one another. The men that fled Exile's way seemed to be endless, but he managed to move from man to man briskly, letting his body take the reins. It was as though every move he made was naturally coded into his person and he was simply running automatic orders.

Dan held his greatsword firm, keeping each cut and attack clean and precise. He didn't want to hurt any of the knights, whether they truly wanted to hurt him or not. In that moment, he couldn't judge who wanted him dead and who was just abiding by the orders they'd been given because they knew they'd be in big trouble if they didn't, so he tried to keep the injury to a minimum for all of them while also keeping them from severely injuring him.

Dan parried a knight's attack and kicked him in the stomach, sending him tumbling to the ground before he pivoted and disarmed another as they attempted to attack him from behind.

Though his stamina was far more than adequate, with all of the men who lunged his way with shining blades in their grips, Dan's energy was draining fast. The pain from his weakening limbs and the gashes embedded within them served him no help, and the fact that he hadn't even completely recovered from his sprint here in the first place didn't help either. Deep breaths stung his lungs and the wounds that had been inflicted upon him burned at his skin, the blood of each laceration making his clothing stick to him like a bug stuck in honey. He could feel bruises clawing up onto the surface of his skin all across his body.

But, moments before Dan knew he would become too fatigued to continue, he was graced with an opportunity to escape. He took it, deflecting another knight's sword and leaping over a couple of injured others who had withdrawn from the fight, and now lay crawling and sprawling across the cobble. He bolted for the door in the kingdom wall that was next to the portcullis. He barged through it, slammed it behind him and took off up the spiralling staircase to the very top.

There were other knights scattered about the top of the wall, with there being a large group of them just metres away from where Dan ended up, so he darted left away from them. The walls were wide enough for three men to stand side by side and had solid stone barriers along the edges to keep scouting knights from falling off, but still, they weren't the smartest place to run around on. They certainly weren't a good place to get into a fight, so Dan knew he'd have to avoid the knights at all cost if he could.

When Dan came to a sharp corner in the wall, things got interesting. He manoeuvred around the corner well, leaning and placing his hand on the ground, using it as a pivot, and thanking the heavens he had brilliant grips on his boots. He got back up and continued his sprint with ease, but the knights following after him didn't find it so easy.

Dan flinched as a cacophony of metal clanging against metal thundered through the air, and upon turning briefly to observe what had happened, he observed the majority of the knights on the floor in a giant heap of limbs and armour while those who didn't slip and fall clambered over them. Dan snorted a laugh as he twisted around and continued onward.

Eventually, he came to a crossroad, with the wall continuing ahead of him but also branching off to his left, dividing the upper class from the castle grounds. The knights behind him had picked themselves up and were carrying on their chase, and there was a group of knights barrelling towards him from his left also.

But straight ahead of him stood PJ, Chris and Prince Philip, bearing their swords but all equally reluctant to use them. None of them wanted to lunge at him and attack, and the feeling was mutual. Dan didn't want to attack them either. PJ and Chris seemed unsure as to what to do, glaring confusedly at Dan as though they were expecting him to come at them. However, Prince Phil almost looked... _afraid_.

His crown had been swept off his head and he was holding it firmly in the opposite hand from his sword, both of which shimmered as the sun beamed down on and bounced off of them. He'd also rid himself of the long cloak he'd previously donned, showing off an opulent, elegant attire in many shades of grey and purple that made him sparkle amongst the ashen knights.

Even when his eyes were as sunken and sad as they were in that small moment, Prince Phil was beautiful. Dan couldn't fight him; he couldn't fight _any_ of them.

So, he darted left. The group of knights he was running towards was smaller than the one behind him, made up of just a few men. Dan gripped his sword, readying himself for the onslaught. The sudden clang of a blade striking his own pounded at his eardrums. He parried it and moved to the next, which was quickly being thrust towards his gut. He managed to hit it away.

Dan moved through the group as such, prioritising deflecting and disarming so he could advance through the group promptly without hurting anyone. When he finally got to the other side of them, they decided to retreat their attack and head towards the prince, most likely to offer him more protection than just having PJ and Chris by his side. A single knight lingered before Dan, taking slow steps back away from him as he held his sword towards him, protecting his comrades from an attack while their backs were turned.

Dan had no interest in doing such a thing, so he turned his back to the knight.

He heard his foolish mistake before he felt it. A couple of clunking footsteps, followed by a searing pain that clawed at his back, radiating through him to his limbs. Dan shot around to face the knight again, who was holding his sword above his head to supply another cut. Dan blocked it with his blade, pain and rage tearing through his body as one, and with what was probably the last of his fighting strength, he reared back and kicked the knight in the stomach as hard as he could.

The knight let out a wild scream as he toppled backwards over the waist-height barrier that divided the top of the wall's walkway from a periling fall. And, in a state of blind panic, Dan found himself leaping forward and grabbing the man by his ankle. Dan whimpered and almost cried out, feeling as though the flesh upon his back was being torn apart as gripped onto the man tighter and tugged him back up. Once the knight had been pulled back over the barrier, Dan fell back onto the walkway, leaning back on his hands to support his aching body.

There was an odd silence in the air at that moment, like no one knew quite what to do. The knight gaped at Dan, and Dan glared back for a second. He knew that, as someone who had literally gone and murdered a noble, the last thing anyone could've expected him to do was to save a knight; or anyone, for that matter. The stun was understandable, especially considering this man had just sliced his back like fresh meat.

Dan took a deep breath, his expression turning cold. He gave the knight an icy stare - a fair warning to watch his step - before he scrambled back to his feet and took off running again.

Everything resumed. The yelling, the hounding, the clunking of armour and chainmail.

As Dan came to the second crossroad at the end of the wall, he turned right, heading back towards the castle. It wasn't the option he desired, but considering there was a group of knights flocking towards him from the left of the crossroad, it was his only option. He couldn't afford to get into another fight, not now with the wound on his back.

It was safe to say that he wasn't having much fun anymore. The fight with the first lot of knights in front of the portcullis had been exhilarating - something he had been waiting and training for years to experience - and seeing them slip and fall at the sharp corner had been a comical sight.

But now, especially after that last fight with the second group, Dan was exhausted. His limbs ached from the number of cuts and bruises that had been inflicted upon them, and for the first time in years, his greatsword had become tremendously heavy in his hold. Not to mention the fact that he felt like someone had taken a boiling hot iron rod and stuck it to his back.

He knew the wound wasn't deep and hadn't hit anywhere vital; if it had, he'd be dead by now or, at the very least, paralysed. Still, the pain tore at his back and, for a short moment, he believed death itself would be more merciful.

Dan shook his head in a weak attempt to distance himself from it. It was distracting, and distractions were never good.

Before him, coming ever so closer as he ran, was a tower situated on a corner of the wall. If he reached it and descended the stairs, maybe he'd be able to find a place to hide on one of the floors inside.

However, he needn't have to worry about where his hiding place would be, as Prince Phil, Sir PJ and Sir Chris reappeared before him again, rushing out of the tower. They stopped, and Dan matched the action, halting in his tracks once more, panting and knowing he was beyond overworked at this point.

He'd been cornered.

The knights slowed behind him to a tempered walking pace some good distance away. They were steady and wary, like Dan was some sort of beast that could turn and lash out at them at any moment. Considering they were tens of feet off the ground, he didn't blame them. Dan didn't like the idea of getting thrown from the wall either.

"Surrender, Exile." One of the knights behind him bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the still atmosphere surrounding them, "Drop your weapon and you won't get hurt."

Dan cast a look over his shoulder for a moment, and he tried to hide his grimace as the muscles in his back cried in protest, before he dramatically rolled his eyes. _Yeah, right._

He turned back to look at his old friends. There was a small smirk on Chris' face, appearing cynical, but Dan could tell by the way his eyes glimmered that it was simply light-hearted amusement - most likely a reaction to Dan's sass, if he had to guess - that he hid behind the sadistic act he was putting on.

Impressed, Dan had to stop himself from raising his eyebrows.

Then there was PJ, whose eyebrows were knitted together, hiding worry behind a stern glare. Dan knew PJ didn't want to see him get locked up again. The risk he took getting him out the first time would be for nothing if he did.

The prince's expression, however, was somewhat unreadable. It was blank as he stared at Dan, and it perplexed Dan to all ends of the universe. There was something there that he couldn't read, but he almost seemed to be waiting - like he was questioning him.

_What are you going to do now?_

To Dan's right was a long drop to earth, barely cushioned by the grass of the castle grounds. To his left, though, was running water; Dan could hear its dulcet rush. He manoeuvred ever so slightly, tilting himself so he could look over the barrier. The men surrounding him flinched at the movement but quickly eased as Dan merely peered down at the world past the kingdom walls.

Tens of feet below, winding around the very edge of the rocky hill the castle sat upon, was a river - wide, most likely deep and with a pretty slow current. It flowed all the way along the side of the kingdom and into the forest.

Dan moved back and his gaze fell on Prince Phil. There was a flicker of confusion on the prince's face as he attempted to determine why exactly Dan had looked over the side of the wall, but as he inched closer to the side, mimicking Dan's previous action, his eyes widened. He didn't even have to see the river, just hear its surging waters.

He stared back up at Dan. His breath caught in his throat. He knew exactly what he was going to do and, shaking his head feverishly at the idea, he whispered, "No, _please_ no."

Sword in his grip, Dan lifted his arm and his blade made a _shink_ noise as he slid it into its scabbard _._ He was fixated on no one but Phil as the prince copied his action, freeing his right hand of his greatsword while his left still held a tight grip on his crown. Dan's expression softened all of a sudden and his lips curled upwards into a fond little smile.

Phil's heart skipped. He would've thought Dan's expression was the most stunningly pure sight he'd ever lain eyes upon, had they not been in the circumstances they were in.

"Don't you _dare,"_ Phil said under his breath.

Dan turned and leapt up onto the boundary, much to the utter dismay of everyone surrounding him. There was a sudden uproar from the men as he balanced himself on the edge, readying himself to jump. He heard Phil cry, "Dan!" as he looked down upon the dark waters that flowed far below him.

In that very last moment, that _millisecond_ before he let himself fall off the barrier, the very last thing he could've expected was to feel a hand clasp his arm, and he certainly wouldn't have expected to turn and find Prince Phil at his side.

Using the side of his body, Phil shoved Dan back away from the edge. He had managed to get Dan a little way from it, merely a stumbling step, as Dan had grabbed Phil's arm and managed to regain his balance. Dan resisted Phil's effort to push him back onto the walkway, but the force propelled Phil forward, causing him to take Dan's place.

His foot slipped and the other followed.

Dan's hand moved to clasp Phil's wrist, and at that moment, gravity did not appear to be his friend. The suddenness of Phil's fall wrenched down on his arm and he let out a yelp as it stretched his muscles.

He couldn't pull him up. So, he instead let Phil drag him down.

He fell after him, still gripping his wrist, and just about managed to grapple the wall before they could both plummet down tens of feet into the river. Phil's crown was sacrificed in the process, slipping from his fingertips, and as he dangled over the side of the wall, he observed it drop and sink into its dark depths.

Unfortunately for him, Dan had grabbed his injured wrist and he winced at the pain that shot through his arm from the tight hold Dan had on it. As he looked up at Dan, however, his own pain was buried beneath the realisation that he was suffering through excruciating amounts of agony _._ His breaths were heavy and quick, jaw clenched, every muscle stiff. He was undoubtedly drained from the fights and all the running he'd done, and yet, he endured holding onto Phil's wrist, bearing his weight to keep him from falling.

Above Dan, the knights came into view, leaning over the wall. Some held their swords towards him, the tips of their blades mere centimetres from his face, while others attempted to reach for Phil.

"Step the _fuck_ back or I drop him!" Dan's voice penetrated the hustle, orotund and rough, and Phil's face was struck by astonishment. It was different - much like near enough everything else about Dan - but Phil had always expected that Dan's voice would've had that same softness to it as it did when he was a child. The change definitely stunned him.

The knights persisted for a moment longer. The one above Dan thrust his sword further towards him, the blade skimming the skin of his neck. "If you dare drop the prince, you are dead, Exile."

"You and I both know I'm dead no matter what I do." Dan said with a growl, glaring up at the knight, " _Step back_ or I drop him."

The knight sneered at Dan but, ultimately, he grunted. Though reluctant to, he gestured for the other knights to step back towards the opposite side of the wall.

Dan huffed in exasperation, " _Thank you_."

Phil gaped up at him, somewhat unsure as to what had just happened, "You're insane, you know that right?" He blurted with a shout, though not at all with malice or aggravation in his tone; it was more like shock than anything else, and maybe even a slight tinge of fear.

Dan glanced down at Phil and a peculiar emotion flickered in his expression - like he wasn't quite expecting Phil to say anything to him, especially not something like that. It disappeared as quickly as it came, though, replaced with a softened expression that oddly frightened Phil even more.

"Of course I do," He responded, diverting his gaze back up the wall, "I poisoned and killed a man right before your eyes, remember?"

Phil's eyes widened. He stared up at the man who held his wrist in a tight grip; who was keeping him from dropping to what could quite possibly be the end of him. It seemed gravity took ahold of his heart and descended it into the pits of his stomach. Horror soared through his veins and made his blood run cold.

He did remember - Daniel had _killed_ someone. And he seemed almost proud of it, remorseless, like taking a life was some simple, mundane task. He didn't even seem bothered that he'd said this to Phil, of all people - the prince and future _king_. He spoke uncaring of his status, uncaring of his authority in the kingdom, and with so much valour in his tone that Phil almost felt... _inferior_ to him. He felt small and weak in Dan's presence, at the sheer amount of power he appeared to hold, though, in reality, someone of his status held none.

Dan was no longer the shy, wary little boy he'd been when they were younger. He was a defiant, ruthless criminal, a cruel killer, and Phil found him _terrifying_.

He was Exile.

 _But Dan's not completely heartless_ , he told himself. If he was, Phil was pretty positive that there would be more than just a single casualty within the kingdom. And it wasn't like he killed anyone good.

Phil shook his head, shoving his thoughts out of the way of his vision to see that the sweet expression had fallen from Dan's face once again, replaced by the same distress he'd seen before. He was really struggling, tightening his grip on both the edge of the wall and Phil's wrist (which made Phil wince again), and Phil saw Dan's powerful stance melt before his eyes, forming almost into fear. It was an expression that seemed peculiarly familiar.

It was the same fear he'd seen just before Dan had fled from the castle those ten years ago, in that very last glance.

Phil frowned, feeling a form of anxiety and concern bubble in his chest, "You should've let me fall."

"As if I'd let you fall," Dan shot back with a mutter, his face scrunching up as if it was the stupidest, most asinine notion he'd ever heard.

"I'm serious! You were already exhausted and suffering as it was, and catching me has only made that worse!" Phil said, "You're in _pain_ , Dan."

"I don't care. I refused to let you plunge to your probable demise, Your Highness, and I still do. No matter the fucking cost." Dan spat back sharply, before pausing. He inhaled shakily before he went on, a tad calmer, "Listen, the only way you're going to get out of this safely is if you use me to get up."

"What?"

"You have to climb me. I'll help hoist you up and then you can grab the wall. I'm sure your _friends_ -" Dan sneered up towards the knights, "-will help you from there."

 _They want you dead, they'll never be my friends!_ Phil wanted to say, but instead, he shook his head feverishly and declared, "No, Dan, not a chance. I'm not going to let you put yourself through any more pain, especially not for me-"

"If you don't, we're both going to fall." Dan interrupted him, a pleading look set on his face as he cast his gaze down to Phil, "Please, Your Highness."

Phil watched Dan's face for a moment, saw the panic glimmering in his eyes. "And what about you?" He questioned, "How are you going to get out of this safely?"

Dan simply frowned, "You and I both know there is no such thing as safety for me anymore."

Phil exhaled solemnly. He was right, of course he was right. Hell, his best bet for survival would probably be to risk the fall into the river, and that could _kill_ him. Although, there wouldn't have a choice between life or death if he got caught again. Death would be guaranteed.

"Fine," Phil finally accepted, "but I don't want you doing anything to help pull me up. Just make sure you don't let go of the wall."

At that, Dan nodded obediently, and his entire body went rigid. He strained to withhold the extra weight that was being put on by Phil as he began to swing himself a little. Once he'd gathered enough energy, he launched himself and managed to grasp Dan's shoulder. He pulled himself up, sincerely hoping his hand wouldn't slip as he and Dan both simultaneously let go of each other's wrists, and clasped his arms tightly around his neck.

Phil felt Dan's body relax against his, felt his heartbeat thrumming against his chest, matching perfectly with the swift rhythm of his own. Both of their breaths were heavy.

Phil squeezed Dan as tight as he could. He couldn't help it - he would've done it years ago if he'd ever had the chance. He poured all of his strength into it, all of his emotion - the sorrows, the regrets, the loss, the longing, the hatred, the desires, the relief, the love. Everything.

Dan let out the softest of grunts at the embrace, and Phil couldn't tell if it was due to pain from the pressure on his body or because he wasn't expecting it.

"Also, stop calling me Your Highness, and don't call me prince either. It's Phil to you." Phil declared, and he smiled as he heard Dan let out a faint chuckle, "I'm glad I got to see you again, Dan."

He felt Dan's free arm snake around his waist then, delicate against the fabric of his royal costume, like Phil was the one who'd been injured and he was trying his very best to cause him no further discomfort. After a moment, however, he gently squeezed him back, "I'm glad I got to see you too, Phil."

Phil melted into the hug, adoring the way his name sounded on Dan's tongue; though his voice had lost that childlike pitch, he still spoke in the very same sweet tone.

Then, all of a sudden, a knight decided it was best to chime in, "Exile, if you don't hand over the prince-"

Dan grumbled next to Phil's ear before he lifted his head away to cut off the knight, yelling back, "Shut the fuck up and sit tight, I'll take much time as I want."

A chuckle bubbled out of Phil's mouth then, which he muffled into Dan's shoulder. Dan huffed in amusement as he lay his chin on Phil's shoulder once more, listening amiably to him giggling on until he eventually calmed down.

Once he had, Phil asked, "You'll be alright, won't you?"

Dan exhaled audibly, "I can't make any promises. I'm sorry."

Phil sighed. He desperately didn't want to let go of him. He wanted to stay like this forever, have Dan close to him, so he could never leave again; he wanted to constantly feel his warmth, constantly have him _here_.

Ultimately, he loosened his hold and pushed his head from Dan's shoulder, but Dan's grip on his waist remained. Phil removed his left arm from around his neck and extended it up, just managing to grasp the edge, their hands only centimetres apart. There was a similar distance between their faces, but neither of them looked at the other. They solely focused up, gazing at their hands; Dan's had grown pallor from gripping the wall for so long and was spattered and stained red with blood, while Phil's was it's usual pale - pristine and untouched by harm.

And before he could really comprehend it, Phil was being heaved back up onto the wall by knights. Once he was up, he was met with PJ and Chris, both of whom muttered with relief as they pulled him off and away from the barrier. Phil didn't care to listen though, instead turning to look back at where he'd been pulled up.

Dan already had his elbows thrown over the edge of the wall, using them to pull himself up. He was quite clearly struggling, his laboured breath and scrunched up face gave that much away, and Phil wanted desperately to go back over and help him. He even shifted forward a little, giving in to the temptation, but, in unison, Chris grabbed his elbow and PJ stepped slightly in front of him.

They knew what the consequences would be if Phil showed even the slightest bit of care towards him. They knew that, even with his new standing as Prince, the king wouldn't take very kindly to an act like that.

So, Phil - most begrudgingly - stayed put as the knights slowly crept towards Dan. Phil wanted to laugh - they looked like they were on the hunt, attempting to not startle whatever they were after.

They wanted their meal.

But it would appear that they did, in fact, startle their hunt. Dan stopped abruptly in place, apprehensive, halfway through pulling himself up. His gaze darted across the many faces of the knights, glaring warily, before his eyes finally settled on Phil.

All he could read in Dan's expression was, _I'm not getting caught this time._

Dan launched himself away from the barrier and Phil's heart plummeted once more.

A small outcry resonated from the knights as he slipped away from them, them racing and some even diving to grasp and catch him by leaning over the barrier. PJ and Chris almost appeared to panic, with PJ letting out a faint, "Fuck," and Chris a "Holy shit," amongst the grumbles of the knights, who all immediately started scrambling to get down off the wall.

And then came the faint sound of something hitting the flowing body of water; of _Dan_ hitting the water.

Phil simply stared at the edge, at the ghost Dan had left behind, horrified. Indeed, he had thought that Dan's best bet for survival would be to let himself fall, but he never believed he'd _actually_ do it! What kind of madman would be so thoughtless? So _crazy_?

"Me," Phil found himself saying aloud, his voice a mere whisper.

"What?" PJ questioned, him and Chris presenting equally perplexed looks.

Phil didn't answer. In fact, before the full word had even tumbled out of PJ's mouth, he'd ripped himself from their clutches and was barrelling forwards.

"Wait- Phil, no!" Chris yelled out.

The two of them lunged to grab him.

And _missed._

Phil hurled himself over the barrier.

And plummeted feet-first to his probable demise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a day late (sorry about that) but this was most definitely my favourite chapter to write so far. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3


	15. Reign; A Fire In The Middle of The Sea

It took Phil a few seconds to hit the water - it was a much larger drop than he could've anticipated - and when he finally did, a rigid wave of trauma shot through his body, driving up from the tips of his toes to his head.

While he'd landed feet first, his body quickly folded back under the water. He sank deeper and deeper, descending at a much faster rate than he would've preferred as his left shoulder collided violently with a rock that protruded from the base of the river. He gasped in pain, only to have water instantly flood into his passages, surging out every last bit of air.

A ferocious burn swept through him. He coughed and sputtered and swallowed, only for more water to fill his throat. Panicked, he began thrashing around, but no matter how much he struggled, he was anchored to the ground and the cold was quickly making his limbs numb.

He'd been robbed of his breath and chained in darkness, but he could still somewhat feel, and he wanted desperately to protest against whatever the hell had grabbed him and was dragging him through the murky depths that encompassed him. Phil even would've drawn his sword, had he not been too busy trying to keep the water out of his lungs.

And then, just as he started feeling as though this was it for him - that he was going to die in these waters - he resurfaced. He choked all of the water back up, it spewing out like a waterfall, and he heaved and gulped down as much air as he could.

He let out a groan, his entire body aching. He could hear someone breathing just as heavily as he was, and as he looked up to see whoever had rescued him, his eyes met the most comforting, relieving sight he could've possibly laid eyes upon.

_Dan._

Uncaring of how heavy and weak his body felt, Phil surged himself up from where he'd been treading water onto the ledge that Dan was perched on. It appeared Dan had dragged them into a tiny cave somewhere under the water that had been bored into the rock of the hill, it's only entrance being one you had to dive far beneath the surface to get to.

The cave was full of water and pitch black, for the most part. Its sole light source came from the rays of sunshine that shone through the water and reflected into it, flickering on the ceiling in pretty shades of blue. Upon surfacing from the entrance, there was a ledge that just peaked out at the other side of the small pool. It could fit maybe a few people on at most. The ceiling wasn't incredibly high either, just about high enough for someone of Phil's height to kneel on the ledge, but that was all.

Phil hurled himself up onto the ledge and Dan aided him as best he could before sitting back against the crooked wall behind him, slumping wearily. Once Phil was up, kneeling before him, they immediately engulfed one-another in a firm hug. Phil swore he could've almost sobbed in Dan's embrace, but he held the urge back.

They stayed like this for a few moments, soaked and shivering in each other's grasp, despite the uncomfortably stuffy air of the cave. Eventually, Phil's grip loosened, as did Dan's in response, and Phil pushed himself back.

He gripped Dan's shoulders and glared at him, suddenly overcome with a wave of boundless anger. "Why the hell would you do something like that? You could've killed yourself!"

"Better chances at survival than being locked up again," Dan stated simply - the excuse Phil had predicted himself - before a small smile snuck onto his lips and he reached to grab something from behind him, "I also wanted to get this back for you."

Dan pulled out an object that glimmered handsomely from the water's wavering reflections, and Phil couldn't help but chuckle in disbelief.

It was his crown.

Phil shook his head and scoffed. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell Dan off, but he could string together no words of hurt or outrage or horror.

Instead, he chuckled a little more and said lightly, "You're a fool,"

Dan held the crown in both hands and looked to the sparkling purple jewels for a moment. Their glimmer reflected in his eyes, almost like a blanket of stars that covered a dark sky. Then, he looked back up at Phil. Once again, there was that soft expression. He lifted his arms up, bringing the crown up above Phil's head, and gently placed it upon his hair, which was now a bit drier - and notably, yet adorably, messy - due to the cave's humidity.

"Only for you," He uttered.

Phil blessed the darkness of the cave as he felt his face start to burn, and all of sudden, his heart was full. There was a strong heat in his face, his chest was warm and a turmoil settled in his stomach.

It had been so long since he'd felt like this, so incredibly long. The last time he'd felt this was when...

_Phil thought Dan wasn't listening, so his frown deepened. But then, as Dan connected the two ends of the chain together, he looked at Phil again and gave him the most genuine, loving and compassionate smile anyone had ever given him. He shuffled a little, edging closer towards Phil, and as he outstretched his arms, Dan rested the sunflower chain on Phil's head._

_It was a crown._

_Feeling the flowers resting upon his dark hair, Phil watched the boy settle back down and place his hand comfortingly over his own._

_Phil's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the stars shimmering in Dan's eyes. It was a spectacle that completely enthralled him; that made the heat in his face and warmth in his chest and the turmoil in his stomach return._

Far too long.

It was when Dan's expression twisted, a prominent frown set upon his lips and concern glossing his eyes, that Phil realised he was in tears.

"Phil, what's wrong?" Dan whispered delicately. He put his hands up in front of him, as though he wanted to touch Phil, to comfort him, but was too afraid that even a mere brush of a fingertip upon his skin would cause him to crumble right before his eyes.

Phil blinked, suddenly realising that his vision had blurred, and he rubbed his eyes. After, he gazed at Dan again, just to make sure that his existence before him was true, before he leant forward, enveloped Dan around his waist and buried his face into his shoulder.

As his body shifted and relaxed completely against Dan's, Phil let out a small, strangled sob, "I missed you so much,"

Dan froze in place, his hands hovering above Phil's form, not exactly knowing quite how to react to the prince's declaration. Eventually, though, he brought his hands down, one falling upon his back and the other on his waist. "I missed you too, Phil." He said, voice hushed and soft, as he hugged him even closer, "I missed you so, so much."

Phil felt himself melt further into the embrace and he squeezed Dan tight as he released another sob. He tensed, however, when Dan let out a groan, followed by a pained gasp and, realising what he'd done, Phil immediately loosened his grip and pushed himself away to kneel before him again.

"Oh my god, Dan," Phil murmured, "Your back...and..." He trailed off, falling silent as he picked up Dan's left arm, his gaze scattering over it.

The damp, greyed-white fabric of his tunic's sleeve was spotted and smeared red with blood from deep cuts that lay beneath and, peering over to his right arm, Phil viewed that it was equally as bloodied and bruised. Upon Dan's torso were imprints of slashes in his leather jerkin from rivalling blades that only just managed to miss. His neck was stained red, and a great portion of his collar was drenched in blood due to a rather nasty laceration on his jaw.

Phil's gaze shifted up to Dan's face, letting his eyes wander the paths and trails of life and experience. Even when his face was pale of colour, dripping wet, battered bloody and covered in dirt and filth, Dan was as beautiful and breath-taking as ever.

There was a graze on his left cheek, like someone had scraped a rock against his skin, and Phil lifted his hand to cup it, his thumb tenderly brushing across the rough abrasion. It hadn't been there before Dan let himself fall from the wall, so Phil presumed he got skimmed by something when he hit the water. Maybe it was the same rock Phil's shoulder had slammed into, or maybe the current had swept a stone his way.

Dan stared at him intently. There was no certain emotion in his eyes, only a fondness that was still pretty vague, and if there were anything else, it was being shielded away behind the enamoured glaze. Phil inwardly cursed the fact that he couldn't read him, couldn't see past his ambiguous facade. He'd been able to do so when they were younger. He'd always been able to do it with even the most deceptive and furtive of people.

_How are you doing this? What are you hiding?_

"I'm fine, Phil," Dan piped up. He shifted to place his hand upon Phil's wrist as Phil's hand still cupped his cheek. It caused Phil to look him in the eye once more, and he watched Dan gingerly bring his hand down from his face, where he held it between them, "Seriously, I'll live. It's just a cut, and possibly some bruising. If it was going to kill me, it would've done so by now."

Phil glared at him, a sceptical look in his expression, and Dan observed him for a moment before adding, "Besides, I'm more worried about you than myself."

Phil cocked an eyebrow, perplexed by what Dan was trying to suggest. At the look of his perplexity, he turned over Phil's hand so his palm was upright and, using his other hand, pushed his sleeve up.

He exposed the bruises and cuts on Phil's wrist - prominent even in the dim, wavy light of the watery cave. Phil swallowed thickly, refusing to look the other man in the eye. He simply thought Dan had bypassed them during his visit the night before, considering he'd never mentioned them in his letter. But _of course_ Dan wouldn't ignore them. What a silly thing of him to think. Knowing Dan, he'd probably be concerned about something as mere as a splinter.

When Phil finally flickered his gaze up to look Dan in the eye again, he was observing him closely.

"What is this, Phil?" He asked, voice steady and softened, "What happened?"

Phil wanted desperately to pour his heart out to him, and for a small moment, he believed he might have let himself.

There was definitely something bizarre about Daniel; something that made him distinctively complex. He couldn't see straight through to Phil's struggles, god knows Phil didn't make that easy for anyone, but he could see through to the fact that there was something lingering behind his strong and superior pretence. He could knock down Phil's guard, the walls that he had formed around himself over the years, and could let himself in to view Phil's vulnerability in all of its dull glory like he was _welcome_ there.

Phil pulled himself from his mind. "It doesn't matter right now,"

"It was James, wasn't it."

"I'm telling you, it's not important."

"Phil-"

"Dan." Phil glared at him, and though he definitely appeared to despise of the idea, Dan quietened. "I can't tell you. Please leave it."

Dan appeared to study him before, begrudgingly, he nodded.

At that moment, the muffled sound of yelling men echoed into the cave. Phil turned back to look into the water, where faint, darting shadows blocked some of the sun's rays from shining through.

The knights were calling for him; searching the waters for him.

He turned back to Dan. "I-I have to go," He murmured, dismayed at the idea of having to leave him, "Please, Daniel, stay away from the castle and the higher class, and even the marketplace. King James will stop at nothing to make sure you're dead and gone."

"Phil, listen, whatever trouble I get myself into is not your burden to bear," Dan told, "Don't worry about me. I can fend for myself."

Phil frowned heavily, feeling doubt and fear and sorrow rumble in his chest. He moved forward to hug him close again, making sure not to squeeze him too hard this time. "I can't lose you. Not again."

Dan hugged him back as best he could, ignoring how much his limbs protested. "You won't."

The shouting from the outside world resonated louder, signifying that there were more men looking for him. Phil knew his time hidden away was getting worrying, and maybe even suspicious. He'd have to leave _now._

Though hesitant, he pushed himself off Dan once again. Dan was smiling weakly at him - an appreciated attempt at reassurance - and Phil tried a smile back but knew it was unconvincing. He'd stay here forever with Dan if he could, and Dan probably knew that. Part of Phil sincerely hoped he'd want the same.

"I'll see you again, won't I?" Phil asked, shuffling around so his body was almost facing the water.

"Of course," Dan replied, his expression that same softness Phil adored so much, he couldn't help but melt at the sight of it, "if that's what you wish for then you will. I promise."

A boundless energy swept through Phil's body then; a peculiar mix of excitement and desire. It carried him back towards Dan once more and placed one hand on Dan's cheek again while the other settled on his shoulder.

It urged Phil to lean forward, and he placed a bashful kiss on Dan's cheek.

When he pulled back, Dan's eyes were wide and his brows were raised. Phil was relieved to see that the shock didn't seem like that of disgust, but more so like it was the last thing he'd ever expect him to do.

Phil couldn't help but giggle at his expression - at how his body had gone rigid and his cheeks blazed a fiery red amongst the dark blue shade of the cave.

A fire in the middle of the sea.

Eventually, Phil's laughter settled into a fond smile and he turned his body to face the water again, taking his crown from atop his head and holding it in a firm grip.

"Stay safe, Daniel." Was all he spoke before he turned completely and shifted to dangle his legs in the water. It was cold and he felt a frosty shiver slither through his body, but he slid in and submerged himself, briskly swimming in the direction of the exit.

~

When Prince Philip resurfaced in the river, he was promptly spotted by the many knights that were wandering up and down the bank and hoisted up onto the land. The men were frantic, checking the prince for any obvious injuries and asking him every relevant question under the sun.

"I tried looking for Exile," Phil had lied, faking a heavy breath to insinuate that he'd had prolonged amounts of time searching under the water between finding air pockets, "Looked in as many holes and hidden caverns as I could. He's gone."

Fortunately, the knights bought the lie. They rushed him to the castle, where he was instantly greeted by a number of servants who hustled to get him dry and cleaned up.

~

By nightfall, Daniel was dying - or that's what he believed. The cave was a lot darker now, which meant it was also colder.

How long had he been here for? It had to be a great number of hours for night to have approached. It felt like an eternity stuck freezing, suffering from his searing wounds - and from boredom. He was numb, weak and tired, but refused to let himself sleep. He had to stay awake. He had to wait.

Leaving too soon would undoubtedly get him killed, and he certainly didn't have the strength to fight again. He probably only had just enough for him to fight the water's current and swim out, if anything. He could tell the waters had calmed significantly since the day's earlier events, so it wouldn't be that difficult.

But then there was the matter of getting out. Would he even be able to walk? Hell, pull himself out of the river in the first place? Would he be able to handle the pain, or fight the exhaustion?

 _"I can't lose you. Not again."_ Phil's voice rang in his ears, a sweet melody amongst the eery silence of the cave.

Dan felt the sensation on his cheek again, the ghost of Phil's lips on his skin. He would've brought his hand up to touch it, had he not known it wouldn't cause him a great deal of agony, and that he was trying to savour as much energy as he could.

If this plan didn't work, Dan didn't know what he'd do. He'd been told to leave if nothing happened by sunlight the next day, but he no longer believed he'd make it to then. Would he actually end up dying here? Would he-

A short and sharp clack of something solid hit the outer wall of the rocky hill. It startled Dan, reverberating like a lightning strike within the inner walls and shattering the tranquillity that the serene water brought into the cave.

It came again. _Two_ sharp clacks.

That was the cue.

Steadily, Dan shuffled forward and slipped himself into the water. His body tensed as the frigid temperature shot a jolt up his form, causing him to go rigid for a moment before he relaxed against the water's smooth motion. He took a deep breath.

And then, he immersed himself.

It was almost as though he was reliving all of the injuries that had ever been inflicted upon him at once. The water sunk into every laceration, brushed against every bruise and licked at every graze. Dan knew it would take a mere few seconds for him to reach the surface as he surpassed the most difficult part of plunging himself deeper into the water to exit the cave, but, even in those few seconds, the soft current antagonised him. It coursed a searing agony through his limbs and across his skin, as though hundreds of tiny, sharp hooks had burrowed their ways into his skin and were slowly dragging him back towards the base of the river.

However, before he even reached the surface, he was grabbed and viciously pulled out of the water. The person wasn't exactly gentle in hoisting him out, but considering they were helping him in the first place, he didn't mind the pain it caused him all that much. The person promptly shuffled back in their kneeling position as Dan took their place on the land.

"Good to see you're still alive," The person chirped, a relieved grin playing on their lips.

"You couldn't have come at an earlier time, Sir Thomas?" Dan asked, voice hoarse and raw, though he meant no animosity with the question.

"Nope, guards have been on the lookout for you all day, and they've only just left to swap shifts." Thomas told quickly, scuffling around to Dan's side, "We have about five minutes to get you away from here before the next guards come."

He gently raised Dan's right arm across his shoulders and clasped his wrist while his other arm snaked around his waist. Thomas lifted Dan to his feet to a choir of grunts and grumbles, and Dan almost wanted to protest due to the overwhelming pain, but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere.

"I'm really sorry for not coming to get you sooner," Thomas said with a slight frown as he patiently guided Dan at a steady, slow pace along the river bank.

"That's alright, I understand," Dan smiled forgivingly, hobbling along, "Just be glad I'm still alive."

Thomas chuckled a little at that before asking a moment later, "So, where am I to take you?"

"Cat's, if you don't mind. I'll seek refuge with her for the night."

Thomas nodded, "More guards have been positioned in the higher class, so there's almost none in the lower. We should be safe." A pause. "That being said, I did state that you'd be safe while escaping the castle, only for you to get caught by a servant. I'm incredibly sorry about that too."

"Well, I can't say you didn't warn me," Dan snickered but ended up spluttering a little and coughing.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they came to a small bridge somewhat down the river. Farmlands settled at either side, both harbouring animals and plants. They crossed it and continued down until they were shadowed by the marketsquare buildings, where they crept down alleys, following small stone pathways.

"By the way," Thomas piped up, voice hushed, "Those knights that you helped and who helped you escape the dungeon - Sir PJ Liguori and Christopher Kendall - they wish to see you if possible, along with a young noblewoman called Louise Pentland. I'm aware of your affiliations with them, so do you wish to let them do so?"

"If you have enough time, once I'm at Cat's, go and retrieve them," Dan instructed.

"Alright, I will do my best," Thomas nodded. There was another pause, a moment of hesitation, but it was only brief as he went on to ask, "Are you sure you can trust them, Dan?"

"I trust you, don't I?" Dan glanced at him, a grin curling the edge of his lips, "And that was quite possibly one of the best decisions I've ever made."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo sorry this chapter is so late, I've had a lot of stuff going on recently so I haven't had much energy or motivation to write. Anyways I hope you all enjoyed the fluffiness 
> 
> Because it ain't going to last long <3


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